


Nothing Noble About This Life

by ojangel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canon Rewrite, Luna Lovegood & Draco Malfoy Friendship, M/M, Narcissa Black Malfoy is a Good Parent, Oblivious Harry Potter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining Draco Malfoy, Ravenclaw Draco Malfoy, Seer Draco Malfoy, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23359864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ojangel/pseuds/ojangel
Summary: In a universe where Draco is born with the ability to see into the future, things go a little differently this time around. Shenanigans and way too much angst for a twelve-year-old ensue...
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 107
Kudos: 551





	1. An Innocent Beginning (or, the prologue)

_When I close my eyes I see a great big dog, and eyes that sparkle green, like wet grass. I see pale skin like that of a ghost’s, and can hear the hissing of a snake. I can feel the Christmas spirit as sharply as I do the winter snow, and yet I always wake up sweating through my pyjamas. There are terrible screams, too, with words that I would never catch myself uttering aloud_.

_I prefer to keep my eyes open, even if it leaves me feeling very, very tired._

_Today, I had a pasta dish that Father said had wine in it. I didn’t like it very much, but ate it all because I forgot to come down for lunch in the afternoon. I’d accidentally fallen asleep in the library, after reading all morning. Dobby had found me a new book, you see_...

... A young Draco finishes the _Y_ in ‘Malfoy’ with a flick on the tail. He licks his lips, pleased with his work, and stands up to show his father.

It’s late in the evening, and he’s eight-years-old. The night before, he’d had Mother read him the start of Dracula again, even though it usually kept him awake for hours, afterwards. He quite liked the idea of writing about his days in a journal, and had done so as soon as he got his hands on an empty notebook that morning.

He’d written about his dreams, and his nightmares. They’re usually just flashes of stuff, like brown hands and dark corridors, but they still make him uncomfortable. Draco hopes that writing about them will get rid of them, cause he’d prefer to have a satisfying night of sleep every once and awhile.

“Father,” Draco says, staring up at the man. “I’ve finished my journal log.”

“Show it to me,” he replies, looking up from the newspaper in his hands. Draco shuffles up onto the lounge beside him, and places the diary onto his lap. “It’s very long.”

“I have a lot to say.”

“Indeed,” his father says, sounding amused. His eyes dart across the paper, lip curling at some parts, before finally shutting the book with a strange look in his eyes. “I thought you were going to write about your day.”

Draco fiddles with his small hands. “I was going to, but my day was _bore_ -ing! So I wrote about my dream last night.”

Lucius tilts his head, opens the book up again, and reads it over once more. “This is from your dreams? Not those books you insist on getting read to you?”

He nods.

“Well, then.” His father pauses, and doesn’t speak for a long, long time. “That’s... alright. The only criticism I have is that you forgot to date it.”

“Huh?”

“ _Pardon_ ,” Lucius corrects, absently. “You need to put the date at the beginning of each log, otherwise how will you know when you wrote it? Like today..” he trails off, and taps his wand on the paper. Ink sinks into the page. “is December twelve.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot.”

His father nods, and reaches out to run a hand through Draco’s white hair. “It’s very promising, otherwise.”

Just as Draco goes to reply, the fireplace roars and his mother steps out, not a single hair out-of-place. Magic, he supposes, is good for even little things like that. “Hello, darling. Lucius,” she says, “My dinner went on longer than I expected. I hope I haven’t kept you both up waiting.”

Draco climbs onto her lap as soon as she sits down, despite being almost nine now. He’s never really bought into the whole ‘growing up thing’ - he’d much rather stay young forever, because then he’d never get called a baby for actually liking his parents.

“Our son was just showing me his first diary entry.” His father leans forward to look at Narcissa better. Draco’s whole face is starting to feel heavy. “He wrote about his dreams. I thought you said they had stopped?”

That didn’t sound right, he thinks. Draco doesn’t remember any other dreams - they’d only started recently. His mother starts rubbing his back, making him yawn.

“They had.” Their voices sound too quiet, but not in the whispery way. More like Draco was underwater, and couldn’t make out their words. “At least he’s not waking up screaming, anymore. Perhaps—“

Draco’s mother was always so warm. He cuddled closer to her chest, let out a content hum, and fell asleep. He seemed to be doing that a lot, lately.


	2. Lime-Wood And Unicorn Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Er,” the boy says, shy, as Draco continued to scrutinise him. “Hi.”

Draco was getting fitted for robes.

Madam Malkin was friendly enough, aiming different fabrics over his head and humming as she worked. Draco just tunes her out, tucking a piece of loose hair behind his ear.

Quickly though, the sound of a new voice startles Draco from his boredom. He looks over and promptly falls off his stool. Ouch.

“Oh, my!” Madam Malkin rushes over to help him up. Draco’s face feels very, very hot, and his bottom already has the beginnings of an ache. “Are you alright, dear?”

He stares over her shoulder, wide-eyed. It was the boy, the one from his dreams. He has his green eyes and horrible hair and glasses - all of it! He’s wearing a Muggle shirt with sleeves that went past his wrists, and grey pants that looked to be three sizes too big, as the only thing stopping them from falling down was an ugly old belt.

Oh, Merlin, Draco thinks.

The dreams have gotten stronger in the last year. They weren’t so much as flashes of stuff anymore, as they were proper scenes. It’s a little like reading through a picture book, except Draco is in the picture and somebody else was reading the words to him. And, by that analogy, the boy was sort of the main character.

His parents have tried getting him to talk to them about it and, on one memorable occasion, a Healer, but the only thing that seemed to help was to write his dreams down. He has almost three full diaries worth by now, full of things that seem meaningless but often had Draco waking up screaming.

He couldn’t exactly say all that, though. It’s embarrassing. And just sounds plain crazy.

“Er,” the boy says, shy, as Draco continued to scrutinise him. “Hi.”

The seamstress was looking rather concerned now, so he blinks out of his stupor and says, “I’m fine, sorry. My fault.”

Once Madam Malkin backs off, she waves the boy over. He wanders to the stool beside Draco’s. A second witch starts pinning his school robes to their proper length.

A moment of silence passes.

“Hogwarts, too?”

“Yeah,” the boy replies, eyes flickering between Draco and the charmed tape measure whizzing around them.

Draco purses his lips. He’d been pushing a lot of his friends away recently— Vince and Greg, even Pansy— in a last attempt to be left alone from their questioning. Pansy is dramatic about things as mundane as brushing her teeth, and both Vince and Greg would show an annoying amount of concern in their own, admittedly, unique way. His mother always tells him that he should feel lucky for having such caring friends, but he knew they’d just ask about his dreams, and he didn’t wanna talk about them. Not with anyone who wasn’t a professional or, in Severus’ case, his godfather. Now he was beginning to regret it because he had zero ideas about how to make conversation with someone his own age. 

He hasn’t ever really wanted to make conversation with someone his own age, either.

“So,” Draco says, awkwardly, “Play Quidditch at all?”

The boy nods, seeming disinterested. Draco frowns. “Do you - do you know what house you’ll be in, then? My parents want me in Slytherin, of course...”

Again, the boy doesn’t reply. He‘s just beginning to run out of things to say when there‘s a tapping at the shop’s front window. They both look over, and Draco almost falls off his stool again.

Standing at the window is a giant of a man, with a tangled beard and messy brown hair that covers half his face. His eyes, however, are small and kind in contrast to his menacing size. The man is smiling at the boy and holding two ice-creams in a way that Draco supposes must mean he can’t come inside.

“Who is _that_?”

“That’s Hagrid!” The boy finally seems pleased. “He’s the groundskeeper at Hogwarts.”

Draco thinks he’s a little scary-looking. “That’s, um... He looks very nice?”

“He’s brilliant,” the boy says. “He gave my cousin a _tail_.”

“He won’t do that to the students, will he?”

The boy opens his mouth to reply, but then Madam Malkin taps him on the shoulder and says, “That’s you done, dear,” as she pulls his new set of robes off him. The boy settles with smiling at Draco and jumping off the stool. “I’ll see you at Hogwarts, then?”

Draco nods, waving goodbye. The boy leaves with Hagrid beside him.

It’s only a few minutes later that Draco is leaving Madam Malkin’s himself. His mother comes to collect him, a stack of school books in her hands, and a promise of a new wand on her lips, so they head in the direction of Ollivander’s together. It made his stomach flip with nerves - he’s wondered about the sort of wand he’d get since he was little, and whether it’d be like his mother’s Hawthorn, or his father’s Elm one. Perhaps it would be something entirely different, but still perfectly elegant.

A bell chimes when they enter the wand-shop. There is an old man bustling around that must’ve been Mr Ollivander, as he whirls around when the door snaps shut and quickly pins his pale eyes on Draco.

“Good afternoon,” he whispers, walking over to them. “Mr Malfoy, yes? Which is your wand arm?”

Draco sticks out his left arm. Ollivander measures from Draco’s shoulder to little finger, wrist to elbow, knee to armpit, and eventually round his head. Draco didn’t really know what all that has to do with getting his wand, but Ollivander must’ve been doing this for years and wouldn’t just do something for the fun of it - hopefully. “Let me think, yes...”

The man wanders over to a shelf in the back while Draco goes cross-eyed from staring at the tape measure between his nostrils. “Try this, Mr Malfoy - hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches, reasonably flexible.”

He takes the wand eagerly, but it does nothing but force Mr Ollivander to grab it back. “That’s alright, that’s alright. Perhaps a rowan wood, instead. A little longer, too. Yes, yes, go on.”

Again, Draco waves the wand around and again, nothing happened.

“Ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches. Spring. Try—” this time, Ollivander didn’t even let Draco’s fingers curl around the blasted thing before taking it back. “That’s not right at all! Have a go at this one, beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible, too.”

The wand pile just keeps growing larger and larger. His mother’s scowl is getting worse and worse as her impatience grows, but Mr Ollivander seemed to be getting a little happier with each try. “Another tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, I’ve just had another kid in who took quite a number of attempts before finding the right wand. Now, I wonder...”

Ollivander disappears to the back of the shop and comes back a second later. “I haven’t sold a wand with this type of wood since I took over the shop, but perhaps...” He passes it over.

Draco squeezes his eyes shut, nervous, and swiftly brings the wand down through the air. Immediately, a set of white sparkles shower onto the heads of everyone in the shop. A lovely feeling of magic rushes down his arm.

“Well done!” his mother cheers, satisfied. Draco blushed.

“That is quite the rare type of wand, Mr Malfoy,” Ollivander explains as he begins to pack up the failed attempts. Mother starts counting out the galleons to pay. “Lime-wood and unicorn hair, ten inches. Lime-wood wands often choose wizards and witches who are blessed in the arts of legilimency and divination.” The man suddenly smiles. “That is two very curious wands sold today. How exciting!”

It seemed he was just talking to himself now, so Draco didn’t bother with a response.

*

_July 31st 1991_

_Father was pleased with my school supplies. He got a little miffed about the extra books I’d eventually convinced Mother to buy, but he can’t exactly take them back now, can he?_

_He looked especially proud when I told him about what Ollivander said about the lime-wood. I’ve only ever read about legilimency, but it seems like an exciting branch of magic. It’d be nice to learn it, especially if I’m meant to be naturally good at it, as my new wand believes - I’m not so sure about the divination_ _aspect, though. Perhaps I shall take it in third year to learn more. For now, I’ll stick to worrying about the dungeons that I’m sure to be sent to when school starts. Father is adamant that I join the Slytherin ranks, but something about it doesn’t sit right with me. No matter, though. The Sorting is future me’s problem._

_Last night, I dreamt of a dragon in metal chains. It looked so lonely, I almost wanted to try and help it. But I can’t in my dreams, because I can’t touch anything. It’s sort of like I’m a ghost, but when I look down at my hands they seem mostly solid, so maybe not. I say mostly solid because sometimes my skin takes on a blurry look. There’s no other way I can think of to describe it_.

_I’m no expert on dragons, but I’m pretty sure it started crying. Sad little flames of fire burst from it’s scarred nose. After that, the scene switched to an odd-looking, but handsome redhead proposing to a pretty blonde woman. I don’t know who they were, but they seemed happy_.

*

Pansy and a boy called Blaise sat with him on the train. It’d been a boring journey, filled with short questions and uncomfortable pauses. When they’d finally arrived, Draco had quickly separated from them into the endless sea of students.

The castle had stood tall in the late evening, watching over them with lit-up windows and flickering shadows. A Weasley boy accidentally knocked into him and mumbled a sorry at Draco. Everyone went in. It all goes a bit blurry around then. He thinks the hat had whispered something about potential wisdom when Professor McGonagall placed it on his head, before shouting the dreaded “Ravenclaw!” to the entire hall. His ears had started ringing around that time.

He’s pretty sure there’s not been a Malfoy in Slytherin for years, so this certainly isn’t ideal. Merlin, what will his father say? Probably something about family and expectations that Draco has undoubtedly not met. There must be a whole line of dead Black’s staring down at him in disappointment, too. Yikes. He best start writing a letter apologising tomorrow morning.

So now he’s stuck here, in a dorm with bookish roommates and real-looking stars hung up around the walls. He stares down at his bed, and the blue on the sheets seems so much more significant now that it stains everything around him. A light breeze flies through, which is enough to remind Draco how bloody high they were. Ravenclaw’s common-room just had to be placed at the tallest point in the castle, on top of everything else! What would happen if he fell out of the window? He would just fall, and fall, and fall, before never falling again. That would never happen down in the dungeons... In fact, there probably isn’t a window down there, at all. Perfectly safe.

Draco sighs and, after a moment of hesitance, changes into his pyjamas and climbs into bed. The other boys’ whispers eventually fade out, and the last thought before sleep hits him is, rather depressingly, _I hope I don’t wake up screaming_.

*

Breakfast is a tense affair. Draco can tell his house-mates have already decided not to bother with him, which makes his chest tinge a little with hurt. No matter, though. He’s above those nerds - he’s a Malfoy.

He tries writing a letter to his parents, but only gets as far as ‘Dear Mother, and Father...’ before giving up. After that, he wrote half a journal entry, felt eyes on him, and stopped. During class, Draco only starts feeling worse. Everyone else already seems to have a goal in mind with their grades, what with being Ravenclaws and all, but Draco knows that’s not why he was Sorted into this house. The hat hadn’t even mentioned his intelligence, during the few seconds it was on his head. He briefly wonders what the other boys would say about that (would they call him a fake? or would they treat him as more of an outcast?), but that train of thought just has him feeling quite sad. Oh, what would the proud Lucius Malfoy say about his son, now?

The best part of Hogwarts is the library, as Draco discovers after class has ended for the day. The walls of books seem to stretch along endlessly, a supply that he was sure no one could finish in one lifetime, which makes him giddy. A few older students lurk around, as well, but for the most part, Draco is completely, endlessly alone. Perfect.

He reads and tidies up his school work for almost two hours before deciding it’s time to leave. He checks out two books— one on wand-lore, the other about potions, and heads up to Ravenclaw tower to ready himself for dinner. It’s a long walk, cause of all the stairs, and he arrives sweaty and most likely red in the face.

Only two of the boys are in the dorm, sitting upright on their beds, just talking. Draco collapses into the blue canopy without care and ends up slipping right off. “Fuck.”

“Language!” an unfamiliar voice chides. Draco looks up from his spot on the floor and finds a hand offered out to him. He takes it, and Terry Boot helps him up. “You’re Malfoy, right?”

“Right,” Draco echoes, sitting at the end of his bed carefully this time. Terry notices and grins a little.

“Are you always this clumsy?”

“No!” Draco says, trying to ignore all those memories of waking up with bruises from knocking into things and falling over bumps in the pavement. “It was an accident...”

Boot chuckles and runs a hand through his hair. “‘Course it was. I didn’t think you’d be the type to purposely fall off their beds.”

He feels himself flush. The second boy, Michael Corner, joins in, then. “I always thought the Malfoy’s would sit like this.” He makes his back go grossly straight and tucks his hands into his lap as if they were doing a family portrait. Draco rolls his eyes. “Obviously I was wrong.”

“We only sit like that for special events, like for big parties or something,” Draco says. He feels defensive, which is silly, as they’re just messing around. But still, it’s his family they’re making fun of, and Draco loves them despite all their faults and pasts. “It’s better than slouching, at least.”

A few minutes of meaningless chatter passes between the three. Draco heads to the bathroom at one point to splash cold water on his face, and smooth out his hair, and when he comes back out the two others are ready to head out for some food. They talk the whole way there, which makes something warm flood through his veins. He thinks it’s contentment.

*

Draco’s only class with the Gryffindor’s is Astronomy, so it’s not till his third day that he gets a glimpse of the famous Harry Potter.

He sits with Boot in the corner of the room, only half focusing on the world around him as he thinks of his comfortable pillows back at Malfoy Manor. He’s tired, though Draco is used to that feeling, and also home-sick. He almost misses Potter’s grand entrance.

It’s not actually that grand. Draco supposes he just thinks everything Harry Potter does would be grand, even if the guy is the same age as him, and most likely less educated. Most young wizards and witches now grow up with Potter’s story constantly in the paper, so he seems a bit like a myth, or some tale told by drunkards to seem interesting. Harry Potter is anything but.

For starters, he’s the Boy. The one from his dreams; the one from the robe shop. It’s such an unlikely coincidence, but also makes complete sense. Draco must have seen a picture of Potter’s parents years before, and his mind had created a mix of them to use as a character in his dreams. He didn’t entirely believe the theory, but it’s better than the other option - that he somehow knew what Potter looked like, in scary detail, without ever actually meeting him.

Potter notices Draco immediately.

He waves. Draco gives a little wave back. Potter starts walking over, but another boy - the redheaded one that bumped into him when they arrived - is dragging him to the gaggle of Gryffindor’s across the room. Draco is relieved, he’s not entirely sure what would’ve happened if the great Harry Potter sat down with Lucius Malfoy’s son. Nothing good, that’s for sure.

The teacher arrives, then, and Draco gets to forget all his problems for one more night. Astronomy turns out to be a fun class, as he already knows a lot of stuff. Perks of having private lessons since he learnt to walk and all that superiority rubbish. When it ends, Potter is hurried out by his friends, leaving no chance to say hi to Draco. Once again, he’s glad for it and leaves for the trek back up to his own dormitory.

*

_1st Nov 1991_

_I want to go home so much I ache with it_.

_Last night, a troll got into the school. Professor Quirrell had burst into the Great Hall with such force that I was already freaked out before any words were even uttered. We ended up finishing_ _our dinners in the common-rooms. Ravenclaw’s one is very relaxing, but everyone was still really tense about what had happened. I shudder to think about what it would’ve been like if I were in Slytherin - the troll was said to be near the dungeons, and that’s where Dumbledore sent the Slytherins. Incredibly responsible, I know_.

_My dreams were horrible, when I eventually fell into a light sleep. I woke almost immediately, heart heavy. My hands shake even as I try to write down what had happened_.

_There was a man. Or, no, a creature. He certainly wasn’t human anyway, with his ghostly skin and blood-red eyes. He had erupted from a massive cauldron after another man did some strange ritual. It was dark, I remember, and the hint of death tinged the air_.

_Anyway, I crave to see my parents like I would if I lost a limb. They don’t respond to half my letters, and when they do it’s with short and uninterested responses. They must be still mad about the Ravenclaw thing. Hopefully, they will have calmed down by Christmas break_.

*

They don’t calm down by Christmas. Draco gets a note from his mother two days before the holidays are set to begin, with only a few words written on it in her elegant cursive. He’s not allowed home. Not yet, not for a while. He pretends not to cry himself to sleep that night.

Word gets around school that Harry Potter isn’t going home, either. Rumours are common in the corridors of Hogwarts, and whispers of his rough upbringing have already gone through them. Draco doesn’t want to believe silly gossip, but with the way Potter had looked in that robe-shop... Those baggy clothes? And now that he thinks about it, the boy had been far too skinny, as well. Draco feels childish for getting upset over being made to stay when some people have lived their whole childhood with bad parents.

The day before his roommates are set to leave is also the day that Severus finally speaks to him outside of class. The man has always been rather cold with Draco - except for that year his dreams had started - so he’s not entirely sure how the interaction will go. Probably not great, as Sev doesn’t even care enough to acknowledge him during Potions. He’s not entirely sure why his parents made him his godfather in the first place.

“Draco.”

“Professor,” Draco replies, bopping his head slightly. “How are you?”

“Well enough,” Severus says. “And you?”

“Well enough,” Draco repeats. Merlin, this is torture. “Did you... need something?”

“Yes, actually. Your mother has asked me to make sure you don’t do anything _else_ stupid over the holidays.” He glares pointedly at Draco’s Ravenclaw tie. “So, don’t do anything stupid.”

Draco wants to hit him. He really does. Instead, he says, “Of course, sir.”

Severus disappears down the corridor. Draco sighs, shoves his head into his hands and tries to put out the anger burning through him. How dare she? Mother was the one making him stay in the first place! If she’d wanted him to behave so much, why couldn’t he have just gone home?

He’s so caught up in cursing his parents out that Draco doesn’t notice Harry Potter before he’s standing in front of him, a curious tilt to his stupid, ugly head - just when he thought his day couldn’t get any worse. “What do you want?”

Oh, no. That came out way too sniffly. Draco touches a finger to his cheek and is disgusted to find it come back wet. He‘d been crying!

“Um. Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Harry Potter mumbles. “Are you?”

“Obviously I’m okay,” Draco snaps. Potter flinches and takes a step back. “Sorry, sorry! I was just... Never-mind. Leave me alone, Potter.”

“You know me?”

Draco freezes. “Of course I know you. Everyone does.”

“No, I mean, from the robe-shop. Don’t you remember? We met, and you saw Hagrid, with the - the ice-cream, and stuff. Did you know who I was, then?”

“I didn’t.”

Potter’s face breaks out into a smile. His green eyes shine with something. “I’ve been trying to talk to you, but we don’t really have any classes together.”

“Keen observation,” Draco says, dryly. “To be honest, I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

It was true. After that first Astronomy lesson, Potter hadn’t made any more attempts to speak with him. Draco just assumed his Gryffindor friends had told him all about the evil Malfoy family, and Potter had given it up. This is a nice surprise, though. It even cheers him up, a little.

“Ron wanted me to,” Potter confesses. Draco feels his brows raise. Ron... Ron... A Weasley? It must be. He thinks of that redheaded boy, and all those words his father has said about the Weasley’s in the past. Yes. It’d make sense if this ‘Ron’ character was trying to warn Potter off, as their families did not get along. “But I thought you looked a little lonely sometimes, and Hermione always says that you are only ever at the library alone, so I thought maybe you needed a friend, and... yeah.”

Draco blinks. Potter’s face is all red like he’s the one that should be embarrassed. “You noticed all that?”

He nods.

“I have friends,” Draco says. “From my house. But we’re not, like, close or anything.”

A silence similar to the ones from the robe-shop happens, then. Draco’s social skills have improved a little, so he has half an idea on what to say this time. “How’s Hagrid?”

Potter laughs. “He’s not given anyone else tails if that’s what you’re worried about,” he promises. “In fact, I was with him just before I saw you and Snape talking.”

“What? And you just walked away?”

“Kind of,” Potter admits. “I said I’d meet him at the Great Hall. He wants to show us the Christmas decorations he’s helped to set up.”

Us? Draco thinks, and then remembers Ron and that other girl Potter had mentioned. Harmony? Hermione? Whatever. It’s enough to remind him he shouldn’t be hanging around Harry Potter, and again he tries to walk off. Potter catches his arm, though.

“If you’re not doing anything, you should come with. It’ll be fun,” he says, fingers curled around Draco’s thin wrist.

“Alright, fine,” Draco agrees. He probably should’ve argued for a little longer, to keep up with appearances and all, but he’s curious, now, about how the school decorates for Christmas. “The Great Hall, you said?”

Potter hums, tangles their fingers together, and drags him down some corridors. They only need to head up one flight of stairs before arriving at the hall, where a few kids staying back are lingering around. Potter makes a beeline towards two students talking with Hagrid near the front, grip unrelenting in Draco’s hand. “Guys! Look who I found!”

The three of them turn at the same time. Draco feels on display as Weasley’s eyes widen at the sight of him, while the girl— Hermione, he’s sure, now— lights up with recognition. Hagrid just grins, still as friendly in the face as the day Draco first saw him. “‘ello. Malfoy, is it? Come to see the decorations, eh?”

He looks around. Massive trees are set up around the room, with mistletoe and holly hung up along the walls. Snow seems to fall from the ceiling, though it’s not biting cold but dry and warm. It is, in short, beautiful. Draco’s sure he must’ve been gaping. Potter smiles softly beside him. “Cool, isn’t it?”

“It’s... extravagant,” Draco whispers. He forces himself to snap out of it, and speaks to Hagrid, again. “I’m guessing you brought the trees in?”

“Sure did,” Hagrid says. “All by myself.”

“We offered to help,” Weasley cut in, his eyes narrowed in challenge. Draco frowns, confused. “Come on, Harry, we better get to the library. We’ve only got half an hour before lunch.”

Potter’s hand in Draco’s loosens. He’d almost forgotten it was there at all. “But—“

“What are you lot going to the library for? Bit keen, aren’t yeh?” Hagrid interrupts.

“We’re not working!” Potter explains. “Ever since you mentioned Nicholas Flamel, we’ve been trying to find out who he is.”

Hermione smacks him on the shoulder. When Potter makes a wounded noise, she started gesturing furiously in Draco’s direction. “Okay. I think that’s my cue to leave...”

Potter doesn’t let him go. Draco groans, and gives up, resigning himself to witnessing an argument between two friends. “What? It’s just a name. It’s not like he’ll run off to tell Snape or anything!”

_Don’t do anything stupid_ , Severus’ voice rings in his head. This has stupid written all over it, though, and Potter’s grip on him is not letting go anytime soon. Maybe, if— “Professor Snape already knows who Nicolas Flamel is.”

“Yes, but he doesn’t know _we_ know who he is,” Potter explains, patiently. He turns back to Hermione. “See? Draco won’t tell.”

“You just said you don’t know who he is,” says Draco. “So what does it matter if Severus happens to know that you guys know Flamel’s name?”

This is getting a little confusing. He should’ve just stayed in his dorm.

“Severus?” Weasley says. “Why are you on first-name basis with that git?”

“That ‘git’ is my godfather,” Draco answers. Immediately, Hermione and Potter’s argument stops.

Finally, blessedly, Potter’s hand is ripped from his own. Draco wipes the sweat that had gathered on his palm away. It’s quiet for another moment, until Hagrid says, “You three should drop it, anyways. It’s none of yeh business on what that dog’s guarding.”

Dog? Guarding? On second thoughts, this is getting interesting. Draco wishes he had some popcorn.

“We only wanna know who he is,” Weasley says. “Is that a crime?”

“I know who he is.”

“ _What_?” Potter practically shouts. “Who is he? We’ve been looking for weeks but no book seems to mention him! Even Hermione doesn’t know who he is, and she’s, like, the smartest person in our year.”

Draco crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not saying. Severus said to stay out of trouble, or he’ll be sending an owl to my parents.”

“Good lad,” Hagrid says and claps him on the back. Draco falls to his knees from the force. “Sorry, sorry.”

He sighs. “I’m leaving. For real this time,” Draco announces, and walks off before Potter can try to stop him.

*

On Christmas morning, Draco wakes to a pile of presents at the end of his bed. The bigger ones sit in the middle, with the smaller gifts circling it like some sort of strange cult ritual.

He gets a silky blanket from his mother, some rings, and two new journals to write in from his father. A few books from various relatives, and then sweets and school things from the Ravenclaw boys. Nothing from Potter, as their friendship only properly began a few days prior, but Draco wonders if they’ll still like each other enough for presents next year. The idea has him smiling, for some reason.

At dinner, Draco sits beside Potter with Weasley across from them. The professor’s sit further down the table, while other leftover students are seated haphazardly around. The feast is large and seemingly never-ending, with a delicious dessert to finish it off with. It’s one of the better Christmas’ he’s ever had, right up there with last year’s, when his mother had ordered the elves to cook a few Indian dishes and decorate the Manor’s halls with glitter and hanging lights. Draco’s parents had seemed the happiest they’d ever been, dancing and kissing the night away. Their mood had brightened up the whole house. He doubts anything like that will happen again.

Potter wants to show him something after supper, and they walk to what Draco guesses must be Gryffindor’s tower. He waits outside as Potter runs up to grab something.

“Voila!”

“Oh. It’s a cloak.”

“Just watch,” Potter says. He pulls the watery thing around himself and disappears. Draco hears himself gasp, and reaches out a hand to try and find where he went. “I’m here, now.”

Draco jumps. Potter had whispered near his ear but pulls off the cloak about two metres away. “What d‘you think?”

“It’s amazing, Harry,” Draco says. He doesn’t even notice the use of Potter’s first name. It seems right - Harry has shown him something personal, something risky. Wizards worse than Draco would probably try to steal it. “Who gave it to you?”

“Not sure.” Harry pulls it across his shoulders, but not his head. It makes him look like a floating face. “It came with a note, though. Apparently, it used to belong to my father.”

That would make sense. Must be a family heirloom of sorts, passed down along the Potter generations. His last name had a long history, Draco knows. “Why have you shown me?”

“I don’t know. You’re my friend?” Harry shrugs. “I was gonna look around the school with it. Want to come?”

*

_Dec 27th 1991_

_I can’t stop thinking of that mirror we found. Harry admitted he’d gone back again the next night, but I can’t bring myself to. What I’d seen - it haunts me worse than some of my dreams. I hesitate to even write it down_.

_There were my parents. They were as happy as last year’s Christmas day. My mother had her hair pulled back and cheeks dimpled with a smile; my dad looked relaxed rather than strict. And I stood between them, the same age I am now, but there was a glint in my eye. I seemed more innocent, less... scared. A green and silver tie hung at my neck. I have a feeling it was me without the dreams_.

_I think I know what the mirror was, too. It showed me the deepest desires of my heart, something I’d craved without even knowing. I can hardly remember a time when nightmares didn’t plague my sleep, but my soul has secretly craved it for years. And now the mirror has ruined everything. It’s all I can think about. What if, what if, what if? I’d like to disappear and never come back, please_.

*

“Malfoy, wake _up_!”

Draco screams and falls off his bed with a lasting bang. A series of curses slip past his lips, and his arm blossoms with terrible, terrible pain. Tears spring to his eyes. He immediately pulls himself into a ball, shoulders shaking.

Voices whispered around him. He ignores them all, and rocks back and forth. He imagined his mother’s soft hand rubbing up and down his back and his father’s reassurances. It was just a dream, just a dream... Oh, but what a dream it was. Flashes of green, so curiously bright in the endless abyss that the night sky is, while shouts and cackles floated around the scene. The bad man’s words bounce around Draco’s head the most, real and cruel; “You are so small for a power so big.”

He guesses he’d been sat like that for almost thirty minutes before somebody familiar and grounding appears near his ear. “Draco, you must count to ten. Do you mind if I touch you?”

“Sev?”

“Yes, child, it’s me,” Professor Snape says. He was crouched down so they were at the same level. Dark, greasy hair covers most of his face. “Count to ten with me.”

Draco allows him to rub warmth back into his arms, all while keeping in time with the counting. One, two, three... Seven, eight... Ten. He still feels like shit, but Severus’ presence has made his heart rate seem less deadly, and tears less frequent. When his vision finally clears, he‘s mortified to realise all his dorm-mates had watched the ordeal go down. They stand around him and Snape, varying degrees of worry knitted into their faces. “Draco, are you well enough to stand?”

He squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head. He‘s tired everywhere and was sure if he stands that he’d die or something equally as dramatic. “That’s alright. Would you like some water?”

“Please,” Draco says through his teeth. Severus passes him a cup of cold water which he must’ve made with his wand. He takes tiny sips every few seconds, each one calming him down a little more. “Could I have my blanket?”

“Of course,” Severus replies quickly. He asks one of the boy’s to grab it, and then his mother’s silky gift was being wrapped around him. It smelt like her, somehow. “How do you feel, now?”

“Hurts.”

“I bet it does. What were you thinking about when it happened?”

Another voice answers for him. “He was sleeping, sir. I think he was having a nightmare, cause he started yelling out.”

Severus taps a rhythm onto Draco’s shoulder as he thinks. Draco focuses on it, hoping it distracts him from everything. It works, kind of. The voice backs away from the front of his mind, at least. “It hasn’t happened before?”

“No,” the voice says. It’s Terry, Draco realises. Kind, sweet Terry. “Well, sometimes he wakes me up cause he’s walking around the room, over and over, but nothing this... bad.”

That’s embarrassing. Draco will have to stop that if he’s been waking them all up. But walking helps to calm him down, as he can pay all his attention on getting one foot in front of the other rather than any lurking nightmares. “Thank you, Boot. I would try getting some last hours of sleep, now. Don’t worry about Mr Malfoy.”

Some half-hearted grumbles go on before Draco hears them all go back to bed. He still has his eyes closed.

“I need you to stand now,” Severus says. He gets up himself and slowly pulls Draco up by the hand. “You may lean on me.”

Draco immediately puts most of his weight on the man. It has Severus moving a little slower, but if he didn’t Draco would fall. Every limb feels heavy, like a bag of stones has been tied everywhere on his body. “Where are we going?”

“The Hospital Wing. I’ll have Madam Pomfrey give you a sleeping draught if you think you need one.”

“Okay,” Draco says, sluggish. It takes them a little while, as it‘s dark and Severus can’t use his wand without risking dropping Draco, but soon they find themselves knocking at the Hospital Wing’s closed door. Pomfrey answers quickly, looking tired in her nightclothes. She readies a bed for him, asks Sev a few questions, and grabs a small bottle of sleeping draught. “You’ll likely sleep through a few classes, as it’s late, now.”

He nods, swallowing it whole. The potion immediately gets to work, making his tongue feel thick and eyelids lazy. Draco lays on the bed, staring up at the white ceiling, and falls back to sleep.

*

Draco has barely woken when the three Gryffindor’s make the loudest entrance in all of history. Harry stands at the front, eyes worried behind his ugly glasses, with Granger and Weasley not too far behind. Madam Pomfrey never stood a chance.

“You’re alive!” Harry says, pulling himself up to sit at the end of Draco’s bed, while Granger and Weasley stood on either side. “Are you hurt?”

“Oh, yes, terribly wounded,” Draco replies, dramatically. He does a little shimmy further into the blankets. Harry smiles. “Only kidding. I’ll be alright for astronomy tonight.”

They get to chat for a few more minutes before Pomfrey shoos the three away. She gives him a second sleeping draught to hold onto, and then Draco is leaving as well. He grabs a quick lunch before the food is cleaned away, wanders around for a bit, and then decides to visit Severus’ chambers. The man will probably be expecting a proper thank you for last night.

Severus answers his knocking with a bored frown. He raises an eyebrow at the sight of Draco. “Are you meant to be up?”

“I’m fine,” Draco says automatically. Severus opens the door further, and they both go inside. The place smells of potions and neglect, and Draco has to forcibly stop himself from making a face. How could anyone live in such a state? “May I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Who told you to come last night?”

“One of those Ravenclaw boys. The half-blood,” he says. “I was on hall duty, and he came running down, shouting about you having some sort of fit.”

Draco lowers his head, staring down at his lap. They lapse into a short silence. “I was under the impression you weren’t having panic attacks, anymore,” Severus says.

“I’m _not_ ,” Draco denies, but it’s a lie. They were both there to witness it last night. “At least, I wasn’t... I haven’t since I was nine.”

“What triggered it?” Severus asks. He sounds merely curious, but Draco knows what lays hidden in his words. He needs an explanation for Draco’s parents, as the school will be informing them about any visits to the Hospital Wing. “Well?”

He plays with his fingers. Draco has one of the rings he’d gotten for Christmas on, but it’s a little big, and often slips off when he’s not careful. “It was a dream. A man was talking to me in it. Like, actually talking to me. That never happens. Usually, I just watch conversations go down.”

“And what did he say that had you so scared?”

Draco doesn’t want to say it. The words that the man had uttered, they were important - some sort of key for a lock that Draco hadn’t quite gotten his hands on yet. But he has to, or his parents will be even angrier than they already are. “He said... He said, ‘You are so small for a power so big’ over and over. And- and his voice, it was pure evil, Severus.”

*

The library is usually pretty empty on Friday evenings, so it’s with great surprise that Draco finds Harry, Weasley, and Granger huddled around a pile of books sometime in February. Their backs are turned away from him, practically begging to be sneaked up on. And sneak up, he did.

Draco walks up to them slowly, raises his hands above Harry’s shoulders, and says, as loudly as he can, “Boo!”

A few things happen in the next few seconds. For one, Granger drops a thick book that she’d been holding, leading to an array of flowery language to come out of her mouth. Weasley practically falls on his backside from surprise, while Harry lets out an extremely emasculating shriek. To sum up, it’s certainly a memory that Draco would like to hold on to. “Priceless! Absolutely priceless! You guys should’ve seen your faces.”

Weasley sneers at him, but there’s a twinkle in his eye like maybe he thought it was a bit funny, too. “Malfoy...”

Harry is busy helping Granger with her dropped things, so Draco cocks his hip and raises an eyebrow in Weasley’s direction. “What are you lot doing here, then? It’s the last place I expected a couple of Gryffindor’s to be.”

“We’re looking for Nicholas Flamel,” Weasley explains. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about telling us?”

“Only if you tell me what’s so important about Flamel in the first place. Hagrid mentioned something about a guard dog?”

Granger’s bushy head comes into Draco’s line of sight. Her nose is all scrunched up, indecision written in her furrowed brows. She shares a glance with Harry. “I’m not sure, Malfoy. What if you go off and tell Snape?”

He narrows his eyes. “Then it’ll have been for the greater good.”

A bubble of silence envelopes them. Draco watches the three communicate with nothing more but twitches of their mouths and tilted heads, and just as he’s starting to feel excluded, Harry faces him, and says, “Do you remember what Dumbledore said about the third-floor corridor being out of bounds...”

It takes ten minutes for them to get through everything - the facts, their theories, their questions. By the end, Draco has a pretty clear idea of what they’ve been up to all year. It had started with Zabini, that boy from the train, challenging Harry to some sort of duel, and continued with an extraordinary amount of eavesdropping and guess-work.

Draco doesn’t know what to think about the whole evil-Professor-Snape aspect. He doubts his godfather would be part of such a confusing plan. But, then again... Harry claimed his scar hurt the first time he’d seen Severus, and the man could be a bit of a bully at times. But— evil? Surely not. The word just doesn’t match up with Severus; not the Severus that helps Draco through his panic attacks, and can read through his journals without being repulsed by the things written in them. Surely not.

Right?

Oh, but Harry sounds so sure. And Draco knows what Severus thinks of the great Harry Potter, how he treats him during class. Everyone at school does.

Draco doesn’t want to be apart of this, anymore. He wants to go back to the Manor and pretend he’s not a Ravenclaw yet, pretend there’s still hope for his more Slytherin qualities to win out. He wants to be cuddled up with Mother, while Father reads books to the two of them, the sun slowly fading to give the moon an opportunity to glow. Draco wants to be small, and stupid, and not have to deal with any of this. He never should’ve asked. He never should’ve asked.

“Are you gonna tell us who Flamel is?” Weasley asks, unaware of the agony that is going on inside Draco’s head.

“I don’t...”

“You don’t have to, of course,” Harry says. “It’s your decision.”

“As long as you don’t tell a teacher about any of it,” Granger adds. “We’re not supposed to know.”

“Nicholas Flamel has got the only known recipe for the Elixir of life,” Draco says, before his confidence can waver. Their heads whip up. Granger’s face does something strange. “and I’d guess he would be about seven-hundred years old, by now. The last I heard of him, he was living in Devon with his wife.”

Granger smacks herself in the forehead, and the boys’ attention quickly moves to her. Draco lets out a little breath, glad they’re no longer staring. He hopes he doesn’t regret this, but already Sev’s words are coming back to him. _Don’t do anything stupid_. Too late, now.

The Gryffindor trio seems to go off into their own world, after that. Draco is tempted to leave, but his curiosity wins out (stupid Ravenclaw habits), so he decides to stay, at least until curfew. He watches Granger disappear between one of the aisles and come back with a dusty tomb; he watches them whisper and bounce ideas off each other, though it all circles back to Snape, in the end. A horrible feeling curls in Draco’s stomach.

“I’m going to go,” he says, even though none of them are listening.

Well, perhaps not none. Harry immediately moves in front of Draco, blocking the exit. “You can’t! You’re part of the team, now.”

“I don’t want to be part of the stupid team, Harry.”

“Why not?”

“Because— because it’s all ridiculous. Severus isn’t like that. He’s not bad.”

Harry’s hands tighten into fists. “You’re really that blind? Snape is horrible. Do you know what he did to me in my first Potions class? He insulted me, badgered me with questions that almost no one in the room could answer. I didn’t even know I was a wizard before last year, let alone the difference between stupid monkshood and wolfsbane!”

“They’re the same—“

“I _know_ that. Because when he was telling me the answers, he basically called me an idiot in front of everyone. So, fine. You can say he’s not after the Philosopher’s Stone, that he doesn’t have it out for me, but you can’t say he’s good. Because he’s not. He’s the worst kind of bad - and I would know. I’ve had a lot of experience with bad.”

“You don’t know him like I do.”

“Really? The first time I saw you two talking, he left you crying in the hallway, so, actually, I think maybe I do.”

Draco breathes in once, twice, and then back out. He counts to ten in his head, barely resisting the urge to punch Harry in the face. The two others stand to the side of them, waiting; watching. “You must be fucking delusional, then.”

With that, Draco bolts.

*

”Did you hear what happened? With Potter and his friends?”

*

_June 7th, 1992_

_I_ _have_ _been_ _twelve_ _for_ _two_ _days_ , _and_ _neither of them have been very good. Potter is still being held hostage at the Hospital Wing for his little attempt at saving the school, and I’m ashamed to say that I miss him. We’re not exactly on good terms, though, and I can’t apologise while he’s passed out at the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey doesn’t let me visit him, anyway_.

_Pansy has been trying to cheer me up. She’s been in a really obnoxious mood lately, though, because Slytherin won the house cup. Dumbledore will be announcing it at the feast tomorrow. I’m half-hoping that Potter doesn’t wake up by then, as then he’ll be waking to the news that Gryffindor lost to Ravenclaw in Quidditch, and Slytherin in the house cup. He’d feel absolutely gutted_.

_Last night, I dreamt of my parents. They were walking around the Manor’s gardens, stopping every few moments to admire the flowers. But there was something wrong with them, something corrupted. Father had his hair out and frizzy, all sense of propriety gone, while Mother’s face was bare of make-up and her dress ripped at the sleeves. They seemed older, more tired. I worry for them, as the letters they send me are still rather concise._

*

Draco sits alone on the train back to London. He leans his head against the window, staring at the blur of scenery outside. Students outside his compartment run up and down the narrow corridor, laughing and having early farewells. That tinge in his chest, the one he’d felt on his first day at Hogwarts, comes back. It has him blinking back tears.

Halfway through the journey, a knock forces Draco to uncurl himself from the corner seat. Potter gives him a wave from the other side of the door, looking sheepish. “Can I come in?”

He mutters something unintelligible in response and then gestures for Potter to open up the door himself. He does, sliding it open with a loud creak, and quickly plops down into the space across from Draco. They sit like that for a few moments, simply staring at each other, before Potter says, “Sorry I missed your birthday.”

“That was ages ago,” Draco says. “But I forgive you.”

“And I’m also sorry about... You know.”

“Me, too.”

Potter smiles. Draco feels himself smile back.

“Oh! I got you something,” he says abruptly and starts rummaging through the pockets of his pants. Draco waits patiently. “There you go. A late birthday present.”

Draco stares at the glittering silver that Potter had placed in his palm. It’s a necklace of sorts, with a single pendant hanging off it. “It’s very pretty.”

“Yeah. Ron reckons it’s a bit of a girly present, but I know you like wearing stuff like that. Plus, Hermione says jewellery isn’t confined to gender.”

“That’s very progressive of her,” Draco says, thinking of his own father’s long hair and excessive ring collection. He can also recognise an olive branch when he sees one. The necklace is supposed to make up for all those things they’d said to each other - and it does, in a way, because it proves Potter’s at least making an effort. “Why the rose, though?”

The pendant is melted into the shape of the flowers that Draco often saw during Valentine’s Day as a kid. The thought makes him blush, for some reason.

“It’s your birth month’s flower, according to Hermione.”

Draco bites his lip. ”Thank you.”

Potter grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’ve had to read this like 20 times and each time i start to hate it more and more


	3. The Worst Years Of All Years (Act 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco rubbed his thumb over the metal rose hanging on his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for anyone interested, my tumblr is @ojangel  
> i post moodboards and updates there, so

"It won't come until it is called."

Draco felt as if he'd dipped his head into a Pensieve— or, at least, what he assumed it would feel like; as if he were an outsider looking into something private. It doesn't really matter.

He stared at the boy who had spoken. He's got handsome features, but a malicious look in his eyes as he twirls a familiar wand between his fingers. The boy also had the appearance of a ghost, only more solid around the edges. Draco looked only for a moment, but a name, inexplicably, was screamed into his head. Tom Riddle.

Just as Draco was beginning to wonder what was happening, a new voice startles into his conscious. A warm, determined voice that he'd learnt to recognise over the last few months. "What d'you mean? Look, give me my wand back, I might need it," Harry Potter said, tone fading into something suspicious.

Tom Riddle doesn't give Potter his wand back. Instead, he began to roll it around in his milky palm, grin broadening with every word spoken. "You won't be needing it."

It played on like a memory, only there were blanks in the narrative. Draco doesn't know what diary it is that Riddle starts yammering on about (and something about a snake?), nor why he was there in the first place. He had definitely not actually fallen into a Pensieve, and he doesn't think Potter had gone up against another bad-guy over the summer. So, very suddenly, Draco realised what he was seeing. It was a nightmare.

This, combined with Riddle's mouth opening to release a snake-like hiss, is enough to wake him up.

He knew the dream wasn't real, yet afterwards, with a feeling of icy fear running through his veins, Draco still rushes to the Manor's library to look for books that mention any serpents that can have people dead with only its stare. His search is futile, he finds nothing.

*

Knockturn Alley was, to put it— extremely— lightly, a rather horrible place. The witches and wizards that roamed there were as hunched as they cruel, and the shops that Draco and his father wandered by were infested with dark and stomach-turning things. There was always a feeling of discomfort whirring in the musty air, easily countering the warmth that comes from walking through Diagon Alley's busy streets. Draco, luckily, was rarely allowed to visit this part of London, so it was with a lot of surprise that Lucius had dragged him along that morning. And all just to accompany him in selling some useless junk that had been collecting dust in the Manor's underground vault for the past century.

"A Malfoy should never sulk, Draco. It is beneath us," murmured his father, expertly weaving down the corners and streets that brought the pair closer to Borgin and Burkes. "So why, please tell me, are you?"

Draco bit his lip, trailing after him. "I'm not sulking," he argued, "But I thought we were going to buy my school books today, not get rid of a bunch of stuff that you're unnaturally attached to."

They stopped outside the shop's door. Lucius' nostrils flared as he glared down at Draco. "I am not attached to them, I am simply displeased that I have to be ridding ourselves of valuable heirlooms that have been in our family for generations, just because the Ministry has decided to conduct a few raids in a pathetic search for items that would most likely not do well to be found in our home. Now," his voice becomes colder. "remember what I said— do not touch anything."

Bowing his head obediently, Draco followed his father inside.

Borgin and Burkes was just the same as Draco remembered it being; dusty, and pulsing with a twisted type of cruelty. He also felt as though he was being watched, but that must've been his imagination.

A wizard with greasy hair appeared behind the counter, his broad shoulders droopy and his face covered in what could have been sludge. "Ah! Mr Malfoy, what a pleasure it is to see you. And you've brought your son along, too... I hope you haven’t come here to accuse me of cursing him again, have you?"

Draco chuckled dryly at the comment, ignoring the look his father shot him. When his dreams had been getting really bad, his parents had gotten really desperate and decided it must’ve been a kind of curse. It wasn’t, but it’s still a funny memory.

Lucius turned his stare back to the man and raised a perfectly unamused, blond brow. "I'm afraid I have not, Borgin, though I may do so if you use that tone with me, again." Both sneered at one another. "However, I am here to sell some items that may look— ahem, suspicious, were the Ministry to find them in the Manor."

"Sell?" Borgin choked on a gross laugh. He pushed the box that Lucius had placed on his counter away. "I don't do business with you anymore, Malfoy. You're either buying something or leaving. Whether it's at your own will or not doesn't matter to me."

An eerie silence rattled through the store. Draco stepped closer to them, and opened his mouth to ask something, but then hesitated.

Unfortunately, Borgin noticed and smirked, looking triumphant. He leaned forward eagerly, getting into Draco's space. "Young Malfoy, what is it you want to purchase?"

Lucius placed a hand on his shoulder, lips thinning in disapproval. "I was just wondering if you had any books about magical snakes."

A harsh intake of breath had Draco looking up at his father, but the man was staring resolutely at a spot on the wall.

"Magical snakes?" hummed Borgin lowly, sounding both eager and curious as he walked around the counter and towards a shelf covered in spiderwebs. "I have many different books about magical creatures, though none so specific. Maybe... Ah." The man pulled a leather-bound, thick book out, the spine inked with splotches that could have resembled birds if you squinted. "This one has lots of information about reptiles— dark ones, 'specially."

Draco took the tomb almost hungrily, rubbing his pale hand over the front cover. "How much is it?"

"That, young Malfoy, is seven galleons."

Draco absently flipped through the pages, while his father began muttering about stupid Ravenclaw habits. "This is exactly what I was looking for! Father?"

"Absolutely not," Lucius said, insistently tugging the book from his grasp. "You don't need any more books, let alone of the dark kind. You've still got the ones your mother bought for your birthday to read, and a hundred others you've found in the Manor's library in the past week. Why the sudden interest in magical creatures, Draco?"

Resisting the urge to spit something worthy of a backhanded slap across the face, Draco looked innocently up at his father and said, "I simply find them fascinating. Perhaps you'd rather me ask Hagrid about any magical creatures I'm interested in when I get to Hogwarts? He would be very knowledgable on the subject. Did you know that he looked after a three-headed dog in the school last year? Yes, maybe you're right. I don't need the book at all."

It was obvious he had won when Lucius' eyes widened in horror at the mention of Hagrid's little pet. Draco may have blue and bronze on his tie, but he was still a Slytherin at heart— when you grow up around snakes, you pick up a few tricks. "Yes, yes, alright. You can have the retched book, as long as you don't..." He visibly shivered, hastily shoving a few galleons into Borgin's hands. "don't ask that stupid oaf anything."

"Yes, Father," Draco replied, a little dejectedly after they had left the shop. He was secretly rather fond of Hagrid, despite his strange obsession towards beasts.

The next hour is spent splitting up to get the school shopping done faster. Draco buys himself everything potion related that had been listed on the Hogwarts letter, while his father went to fetch some ink and parchment. They meet at the bookshop after what feels only like a few minutes. This was where things went really downhill.

The Weasley family was there because of-bloody-course they were— why wouldn't they be? It's not like Draco had just been thinking the day was turning out better than he'd expected.

Potter was also there, which he wisely ignored. The git hadn't responded to any of his owls over the summer, despite promising to stay in touch after they'd made-up on the train in June.

His father guided him to the edge of the crowd that had gathered inside the shop. Apparently, some famous bloke was visiting, though Draco didn't care for celebrities. He'd never had much need for a role model.

Granger held no apparent qualms, though. She was practically drooling as the man— Lockhart, was it?— smiled prettily down at everyone. Draco looked over at Lucius and found him staring over at the pack of Weasleys. Here we go, he thought, already preparing for the worst.

Draco walked over to them first. Perhaps he could try to mediate the situation before any real fighting started. Yes, that would work.

It doesn't. Potter is stuffing a pile of Lockhart's books into a redheaded girl's cauldron, and she looked quite flustered about it. _That's why he didn't respond to your letters_ , Draco thought, irrationally. _He was too busy getting himself a girlfriend_.

"Well, this is quite the surprise," he drawled. Potter quickly straightened up. "Long time no see, yes?"

"Draco! I've been meaning to write..."

"Really?" Draco said, far too eagerly. He toned it down and tried scowling. It didn't feel right on his face, though, and quickly realised he must've looked stupid. "I mean, really? Because, to me, it seems you weren't trying to at all."

Potter frowned, and the redheaded girl interrupted. It made Draco scowl for real. "Leave him alone, Malfoy."

"Ginny, it's alright. That's just how he is," Potter said. "Look, Draco, I'm serious. I wasn't ignoring you, and if you just let me explain—"

Something made him pause. Draco saw the familiar shadow of his father, and immediately remembered what he'd come over here to do— not bicker with stupid Potter, but try to warn them. He stared down at his feet, ashamed.

"Well, well, well - Mr Weasley!"

What? Draco's head whipped up. Mr Weasley was standing behind Potter and that Ginny character, as well as... Ah. All of them. The whole family was there, now. Perfect.

"Lucius."

"Busy time at the Ministry, isn't it?" Draco's father asked idly. "All those raids... I hope they're paying you overtime?"

He reached his hand into Ginny's cauldron and pulled out one of the books that Potter hadn't yet replaced with a new one. It was battered, and obviously second-hand. "Clearly not. What's the point of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you for it?"

After that, Draco doesn't know. He couldn’t remember who moved first, though they both gave as good as they got. Punches were thrown, people watched. Draco was feeling very embarrassed the whole time and felt as if his dad was being awfully hypocritical. Really, you can't insult someone's reputation and then fight them in a place where everyone could see.

It only ended when Hagrid appeared from somewhere and separated the two men. Draco avoided the eyes of his peers and instead noticed his father do something strange. Sure, he shoved Ginny's book back at her, but there was another, thinner one hidden behind it. It looked a bit like the diaries that Draco kept under his bed— leather-bound, with brown paper, as if it was old.

Lucius swept out of the shop. Draco waited till he was completely gone from view before stepping towards Ginny. She made a scared sound as if he was going to start fighting, too. "I'm sorry. I think my father might've..." He pulled the strange book out. And, yes, it was a diary of sorts. Not one of Draco's, luckily, but he still felt the need to take it back. "Yes, my apologies. He must've accidentally misplaced it. Goodbye!"

And before Potter, Granger, or even— Merlin forbid— Weasley could call out, Draco ran. (He meant Ron, by the way. There were so many, he's not yet sure how to make the distinction in his head.)

*

Draco was just finishing up a chapter in 'Chronicles of the Creepiest Creatures' on the train when a little blonde girl appeared at the compartment door. Her silver eyes burned into his own.

A moment passed, and then she sat down.

He lowered his book, tilting his head. She had a soft look about her, and while Draco's own hair was far more white, he supposed she could have passed as his sister in certain lighting.

"Hello," the girl said, her tone dreamy. "Are you waiting for anybody?"

The words _Yes, get out_ were on the tip of his tongue, but they died down before he could even be bothered uttering them. He knew the Gryffindors would reveal themselves eventually, and his fellow Ravenclaw's were probably waiting for him somewhere, but Draco had sort of wanted some time to himself on the ride to Hogwarts— and perhaps this girl, who very well could've had a little Malfoy in her based on the careful stare she was sending his way, could give him the peace that he craved. So, Draco decided, maybe it'd be best for her to stay. "No. I'm not."

She hummed and pulled a magazine from her little trunk. "That's good because I'm not either." The girl flipped her article around to read upside-down. "I'm Luna."

"Um," he replied, rather eloquently. "I'm Draco."

"That's nice," said Luna, smiling. "Are you also a first-year?"

Draco wondered if she thought that because of the growth he'd not had over the summer. "No, this'll be my second year. I'm in Ravenclaw," he explained. "What house do you—"

Again, somebody appeared at the compartment door.

Granger, in her all large teeth and bushy hair glory, let out a huge sigh of relief at the sight of Draco. "My goodness, I've been looking for you everywhere! Harry and Ron are nowhere to be found, so I'm beginning to think they've missed the train. If they've still got any brains left from last year, they'll hopefully have owled Professor McGonagall for another way to get there so, I'll just— Oh." She stopped her rambling very suddenly, breath coming out fast. "I didn't know you had a sister, Malfoy."

Perhaps it was Granger who needed glasses instead of Potter. Luna didn't even look that much like him. She lacked all the pureblood traits that the Malfoy's had spent endless decades working on, as well as any of the Black's attributes from his mother's side. "I have known her for less than ten minutes, Granger."

Except, she wasn't listening anymore, and was instead flipping through pages of Draco’s book. Her nose was doing the thing where it scrunched up like she couldn't quite decide whether to be interested or disgusted in what she was reading.

"This book is dark!" hissed Granger when she'd finished reading a page about magical poisons. She sounded remarkably scandalous for a girl who's fingers seemed to be itching to read the next chapter. Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm serious!"

"And I don't care." He pulled it from her grasp. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to keep reading my book of interesting and dark creatures for the rest of the trip. Do not interrupt me unless it is the trolley lady with her delicious chocolate frogs, for Mother had me sworn off them all summer!"

In the end, Draco nodded off during a particularly boring passage about experimental breeding on dragons before the old woman even came by their compartment. A shame, really.

Granger was shaking him awake as they pulled into Hogsmeade Station, urging him to change into his robes, while Luna tucked her wand behind her ear. Also, where were Weasley and Potter? Draco seriously doubted the pair were smart enough to send a letter to the school explaining they'd missed the train (if that was indeed what had happened. He really hoped they weren't hurt or something equally as disastrous). It was more likely they'd found a broomstick to fly to Hogwarts to instead, though. That mental-image made him snort.

*

A flying car.

Of course. Draco's not sure how he didn't come up with it himself! Potter and Weasley flew to Hogwarts in a magical car, slammed right into the Whomping Willow, and then got quite the earful from Mrs Weasley the next morning. It all seemed like something from a book.

Draco doesn't get the chance to speak with Potter till lunch. He'd spent the morning in Transfiguration with McGonagall and then wasted another hour in DADA, which Gilderoy Lockhart was now teaching. The man had made them do a ridiculous quiz about his own life, that Draco privately thought he should've aced. With each question, he'd made up progressively more stupid answers. Like, _What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?_ That time he'd disguised himself as house-elf for a super dangerous, top-secret Auror mission, obviously. Alas, Draco ended up only getting one thing right. _What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?_ Lilac, which Draco had put down because he'd thought it was just plain bizarre.

Anyway, Potter and his friends went out to the courtyard after lunch, and Draco most certainly did not follow them. He'd just wanted to get away from that Luna girl for a little while. She was surprisingly quite lovely, in a weird way, but also very distracting. A bit of fresh air would do him good.

Another first-year was talking to Potter. Draco eavesdropped for a long second and then decided to just join in without preamble. It'd be less awkward that way, with how things had ended the last time they'd spoken.

"You're giving out autographs, now, are you?"

"What? No!" Potter denied, quickly. His eyes were green and pretty.

"You're just jealous," said that little first-year kid. Draco briefly wondered if he'd looked that small last year.

"Jealous? Please," Draco scoffed. "Of what? I'd rather give my entire fortune away than have to suffer being the great Harry Potter for a day."

Potter rolled his eyes. "You would love to be me. Don't deny it," he teased. Draco gaped, and then flushed scarlet. "Can we talk about the letters, now? Without an audience?"

"I - er, well. No! I don't think we can!" Draco replied quickly and melted into the crowd that had begun to circle them. He got a glimpse of Lockhart making his way over, which only furthered his resolve to avoid stupid-Harry-Potter.

*

_Sep 6th 1992_

_Potter has joined the Quidditch team. Apparently, he'd excelled at practice last year and the team unanimously decided he would make a great seeker..._

The ink faded into the paper. A frown came onto Draco's face, becoming more pronounced as the diary began to write back.

*

Draco rubbed his thumb over the rose hanging on his neck. He liked wearing Potter's necklace under his robes, where the metal could lay cold against his skin. It was a comfort, a reminder of how things could end up alright.

He'd told Luna everything that had gone down the year prior. For some reason, he felt as if he could trust her, and she was always ready to listen. No one else at Hogwarts seemed to find her anything more than looney, but Draco knew there was more to her than that. The Sorting Hat must've placed her in Ravenclaw for a specific purpose, and though she was intelligent, that mustn't be the sole reason. It wasn't with Draco, after all— something he had also confessed to her. The Sorting Hat's words to him often came to him in the most random moments. Such potential. Such wisdom.

A month into term and Draco wasn't feeling very wise. With each day that passed, he seemed to grow more and more tired. Even Severus had sent him a note one morning, asking whether he was feeling alright, and perhaps he should have a visit in the Hospital Wing to pick up some sleeping draughts— just in case. The whole ordeal was very stressful, and Draco's only refuge ended up being his diary, which he kept stuffed inside his pillowcase.

On Halloween, Granger invited him to a ghost's 500th Deathday party. He went, obviously, but brought Luna along so he'd have someone to complain to the entire night.

They donned their darkest, most depressing clothes for the event. It was Luna's idea, but Draco quickly agreed. They both looked very fetching in their Snape-reminiscent cloaks.

The party was in the dungeons, with a line of floating candles to guide them to the entrance. Draco linked elbows with Luna and was giddy to see the enormous turnout. Ghosts surrounded them in every direction they looked— from translucent soldiers to dancers that glowed blue in the dark. He spotted Potter on the opposite side of the room, near what might've been a table full of rotten food. "Let's go make fun of the Gryffindors, shall we?"

Luna laughed a tinkly little laugh that reminded Draco of sleigh bells. She did that a lot.

"You look like a vampire, Malfoy," Weasley commented as they approached.

"That's what we were going for," Draco said. "They're just the most romantic creatures..."

Granger threw her head back and laughed, though he wasn't joking. Vampires were amazing— he'd thought so since his mother read Dracula to him for the first time.

"Hold on." Potter looked back and forth at Luna and Draco. "Vampires are real?"

"Of course they are," Luna said. She tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. Draco smiled fondly at her. "Where do you think Bram Stoker got his idea from? Some wizards believe he was a vampire himself."

"I don't know who Bram Stoker is," Potter admitted. Weasley nodded along beside him. "And I don't know who you are, either."

"I'm Luna Lovegood," Luna Lovegood said.

"She's the best," Draco added.

"Right," Potter replied, doubtful. "Why are you two dressed up like Snape, again?"

Before either Draco or Luna could reply, a loud commotion went on at the entrance. A group of ghosts dressed like hunters stood tall and proud. Their heads also weren't attached to their bodies. Nearly Headless Nick made his way over.

Draco decided it was time for them to go. Any respectable Malfoy wouldn't be caught dead staying till the end of a party, anyway. The key was to leave around the middle, so as to make an appearance and not cause drama, but to avoid staying until the part of the evening where people started getting drunk.

He grabbed Luna's hand and tugged them towards the exit. As soon as they were gone from view, the pair started running in the direction of Ravenclaw Tower, giggling and yelling the whole way. Draco had never had a friend like her.

Luna insisted she needed to ready herself for bed, despite it still being early. Her roommates liked playing pranks on her otherwise, like stealing her clothing and hiding stuff in random cupboards. It was all nasty business, but Draco knew it wasn't his job to intervene. Not yet, at least. So, he went up to his empty dorm and pulled his diary out. Immediately, he set to work.

He'd only gotten about half a paragraph in when things went black.

*

_Diary, yesterday I woke up with blood-covered hands and no dreams. I always dream. I don't know what's happening._

_Filch's cat was attacked, too. People are saying Harry Potter did it, though I'm not sure how he could've, considering he was at the party with me the whole night._

*

History of Magic was truly the dullest subject, so you can't fault Draco for falling sleep.

In his dreams, he stood in a room covered in dust. The windows and doors were all boarded up, while a smell like rotten meat wafted through the place. Up against one wall, stood Severus Snape. Opposite him, was a man shrouded in shadows. Draco stepped closer for a better look but flinched back when he got a glimpse of the man's face.

A thick, green snake was in the air behind them. It floated in an orb that radiated magic. Draco's breath caught. The knowledge of what was about to happen came to him as easily as walking did. _That snake is going to kill him._

Just as Severus' blood began to seep into Draco's vision, he woke.

Nobody else in the classroom had noticed his distress, which allowed Draco to count to ten without an audience. His heart was hammering along far too quickly to he healthy, and the inside of his nose burned with panic. Draco started packing up his things.

"What are you doing?" Terry Boot hissed. “Class hasn't finished, yet."

"I just remembered I have to do something," Draco lied. He pulled his bag over his shoulder, and ignored Boot's mutterings about detention. Professor Binns never even noticed the door opening.

Draco's feet knew where to take him. He rushed down to the dungeons, where Sev would be teaching a class. No matter, though, this was far more important. Somebody was planning the man's demise, after all, and Draco wasn't just about to let it happen.

The scratching of the class’ quills stilled as soon as Draco came bounding in, though he took no notice. He went right up to Severus, who was making notes on the board, and whispered, “I need to talk to you.”

“Why aren’t you in class?” he replied, in his Professor Snape voice. “Nevermind... I’ll speak with you at lunch, child.”

Whispering broke out amongst the students. Snape glared at them all over Draco’s shoulder, which shut them up. “It’s urgent, sir, you don’t understand.”

Severus looked down at him. He frowned, obviously annoyed, but still ended up saying, “Fine. Wait for me in my office.”

*

Draco despised Harry Potter, and whoever else decided it’d be a good idea for a twelve-year-old to join the Quidditch team. Honestly, what did they expect? It was the first match of the year, and Potter had already gotten himself injured. Then— and this is the good part— he’d gone and had all the bones in his arm removed as well! By accident, of course, but what kind of idiot lets Lockhart cast spells anywhere near them? If Draco had gotten down to the field faster, he perhaps could’ve stopped it, but the Ravenclaw watchtower was so far away from all the action...

Madam Pomfrey didn’t let him visit Potter, as the Hospital Wing was already crowded enough with the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team inside. So instead he’d retreated back to his dormitory, done a short passage in his diary, and taken a nap. By the time he woke up again, it was much later, and he was standing outside the girl’s bathroom. There were no teachers around, so Draco just rushed back to bed and pretended it had never happened. He doesn’t remember ever sleep-walking before, which is a little worrying.

I’ll write home about it, Draco decided, but he never got around to doing so.

At breakfast the next morning, the school was put into a frenzy after somebody claimed to have overheard McGonagall speaking with Flitwick about a student getting petrified. None of the professors denied it, which was enough proof it had happened.

“Colin Creevey...” Draco murmured. Luna cut into a piece of bacon beside him. “Sounds familiar. Have we met him?”

“He’s in my year,” Luna said. “That little boy who was always following Harry Potter around. It’s such a shame he’s been killed.”

Michael Corner made a face across from the two. Draco ignored it. “Luna, he hasn’t died.”

“No, I suppose not...” and that was the end of it.

Another unexciting week passed. People were moving around in groups, now, as if that would help. Whatever was attacking the school would probably prefer a larger meal, so they were likely just doing it a favour. Draco told this to the diary, who told him not to worry about it. Not the best advice, but he’d forgotten about it by the next hour.

When the Duelling Club was announced, Draco couldn’t summon more than a halfhearted cheer. He was always exhausted lately, and his marks reflected it. If he were to attend this club, he’d probably only make a fool of himself.

Potter wanted to go, though. He slipped Draco a note asking whether he’d like to meet up beforehand. They still hadn’t gotten around to that talk, about why all of Draco’s carefully-crafted letters had been ignored, and it was bound to happen eventually. Perhaps if Potter was thinking about duelling the whole time, they could get through it quickly.

“You probably won’t believe me,” Potter started with. Not very promising. “But I swear it’s true. And it only got weirder that night I stayed at the Hospital Wing.”

It _was_ weird, but Draco knew it was the truth as soon as the name Dobby was said. “That meddling elf! Oh, what my father would do if he found out...”

“What? Dobby’s yours?”

“Well, not mine specifically. He’s been in the family for ages,” he said. “I’m really sorry about all this. I’ll write a letter home. My parents will be able to get Dobby to stop bothering you.”

“He’s not bothering me. I mean, not really.” Potter pursed his lips. “I’m just worried. How does a house-elf know so much about the Chamber of Secrets? Ron reckons your dad has helped to open it.”

Draco, inexplicably, thought of his diary.

“That’s just plain rude,” Draco said, a little belatedly. They were getting closer to the Great Hall now. “What? Just cause my dad did a couple of bad things in the past is enough reason to accuse him of more bad things? Such disrespect! And anyway, the Malfoy’s would never be caught dead mixing with real Slytherin blood. It’s all, like, incest-y and stuff.”

Potter laughed. Draco was pleased.

“Incest-y?”

“Yeah.” He looked away. His cheeks felt hot all of a sudden. “Not even the good kind either, like with the Black’s. The Slytherin’s didn’t do it to stay pure, they did it cause they were selfish. They didn’t want anyone to get the ability to talk to snakes, you see, so they only had offspring with people who already could. It’s all very gross.”

Abruptly, Potter stopped. Draco didn’t notice and kept walking. “So, no, my father would never— Potter? Are you alright?”

Draco briefly wondered if the boy was having a stroke, when Potter finally said, “I can talk to snakes.”

“You don’t need to poke fun. I thought we were getting along quite nicely for once.”

“I’m. Not. Joking.”

“Oh. You’re not? I’m not totally sure, but it seems unlikely for the Potter family to have Slytherin blood in them. Not impossible! Obviously, if you can. But...”

Potter tried running away. Draco grabbed onto his hand and tugged him back. “Where are you going? The Duelling Club is at the Great Hall.”

“I’m not going in there! I thought speaking to snakes was normal!”

“Not even a little,” Draco chirped helpfully. He didn’t let go of Potter’s hand, and started dragging him further down the corridor. “Come on, then. We’re almost there.”

*

A third attack— a double attack. Sure, ghosts can’t technically die again, but Draco didn’t know how they were supposed to heal something that they can’t touch. Then there’s that Hufflepuff boy, who he’s sure Potter had mentioned in passing before.

Draco could admit it. He was scared.

The diary was starting to give him the creeps, too. Some of its replies were really vague, while others bordered on threatening. But every time he tried to tell someone about it, a strong wave of fear would pulse through him, and he couldn’t get the words out. Draco would have to rid himself of it over Christmas and to do that meant staying back at Hogwarts. Luna volunteered to as well, to keep him company.

“You can’t. I know you must be missing your father.”

“I’ve just noticed a lot of Wrackspurts floating around you lately, and didn’t want you to be lonely,” Luna explained, because she was an angel and Draco loved her. “Are you sure, then?”

“Yes. I’ll have Potter and his lame friends to stop me from falling off the deep end.”

“Very funny,” she said, not laughing. “And, you know Draco, they’re your friends, too.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he settled with nothing at all.

When Christmas finally rolled around, Draco spent half the morning finishing up his first full night of sleep in months. He opened his gifts a little bit before dinner and then headed to the hall for the feast. Potter, Granger and Weasley were already inside, waiting.

They seemed fidgety the whole evening. When Draco asked Weasley to pass him the pot of gravy, he flinched and spilt it all over his own plate of food. Very strange. Very strange, indeed.

So, of course, he asked.

“What the hell is wrong with you three?”

“Nothing,” Granger replied, voice pitched high.

“Nothing at all,” Weasley added, as if that made it more convincing.

“Right. That’s why you all look like you’ll run off at the slightest sound,” Draco said. “Potter, you’re not actually the heir of Slytherin, are you? Is that why you’re so nervous? Planning another attack tonight, perhaps?”

Potter flushed darkly. Draco threw his head back and laughed.

Draco headed back up to his dorm after that.

The next morning, Granger was nowhere to be seen. Draco questioned the two Gryffindor’s about it, but they were set on keeping it a secret. He was sure it had something to do with their behaviour the night before, but wasn’t sure how.

By the time break had finished, she was still hidden away somewhere. Draco guessed it was the Hospital Wing, but could never get a look inside when he walked by. Several weeks passed.

His opportunity to rid himself of the diary came by in early January. He’d been carrying it around in his bag and felt a sudden freedom from it. He rushed to the first bathroom he saw and chucked the blasted thing as far in as his arm would allow. It landed in one of the toilets with a splash, and Draco ran for it.

*

On February 14th, Draco entered the Great Hall and was mildly terrified at what he saw— the walls were covered in horrifying pink flowers, and heart-shaped confetti rained from the ceiling. It was magnificent. He rushed over to Luna, who was also looking pleased with the display.

“Lover!” he crowed, “Hogwarts has never celebrated Valentine’s Day before!”

“Oh, it’s splendid,” Luna giggled. “I’ve already sent cards to Terry, Penelope, Ron, Pansy, and you! Although I doubt you’ve received it, yet.”

Draco leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “Luna Lovegood, you must tell me how to send one.”

So, he spent his morning making a list of who he would be spending his Christmas money on. Potter was at the top, obviously, his reaction to a singing card would be hilarious. He also got one made for Severus, Luna, and Professor Flitwick. “I think that should do it. Do you have a camera? I would love to immortalise my godfather’s face when one of those... troll-baby things come and starts serenading him.”

Later that afternoon, Draco was walking down from Charms class, and discovered he would actually get to watch Potter receive his card. He’d mostly just been planning to hear about it over the school’s gossip.

“What’s going on here?” he shouted over the excited crowds. He pushed through and found Potter on the floor with the dwarf sat at his ankles. “Oh, I see.”

Potter shot him a glare. Draco winked.

“His eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad, his hair is as dark as a blackboard. I wish he was mine, he’s really divine; the hero who conquered the Dark Lord!”

“Beautiful, beautiful...” Draco applauded. His eyes caught on something near Potter’s feet, and his heart stopped. The diary. “What’s this?”

He picked it up. Potter made grabby hands for it, but Draco was insistent. It couldn’t be, “Where did you find this?”

“Give it back.”

“Give me a second,” Draco mumbled. He flipped to the front page, and, yes, it was his diary. “Potter, how—?”

Percy Weasley appeared beside Draco. He snatched the diary from his grip and chucked it back to Potter. “There you go. Now, everyone back to class! That’s an order! Show’s over, everybody!”

Slowly, the students trickled back inside the numerous classrooms inside of Hogwarts. Draco was one of the few who didn’t, because it seemed his feet were glued to the floor. Potter tucked the diary back into his bag and stepped closer. “That was you, wasn’t it? That stupid poem?”

“You should give that thing to Dumbledore,” Draco blurted.

“What? The diary? Don’t be dramatic.”

Draco whimpered. All his secrets were written inside that thing, and if Potter somehow worked out how to use it... “I’m not kidding, Potter. It’s dangerous. I swear it on my mother’s life.”

Potter noticed his tearful eyes and panicked expression. “Please don’t cry, Draco. It’s just some diary from fifty years ago.”

“Then give it back to me,” Draco snapped. He reached for Potter’s bag and ripped it open. Things flew from it, “Give it back, give it back, give it back.”

“Stop it!”

Draco couldn’t. He grabbed the diary’s spine and held on. _There you are_ it seemed to whisper. _I’ve been waiting_. He breathed out heavily and used the moment of Potter being distracted with his things to run away. A bit cowardly, but it was his only option.

*

_Diary, I think I’m the one opening the Chamber of Secrets._

*

Draco woke on a cold floor, with Harry Potter standing over him. His hair was more of a mess than usual, and he was covered in dirt. “Have I died?”

Potter let out a wet laugh and pulled Draco to his chest. “Oh, my God, don’t ever do that, again.”

“Have you gone mad? You of all people should know I don’t do hugs!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Potter said, although he didn’t sound particularly apologetic. He let Draco pull back a little, but didn’t entirely let go. Their faces were incredibly close. “I just— I thought you were dead. We all did. You looked dead when I came in, and Riddle was there, and he almost...”

Oh. Right.

Draco remembered, now. He’d spent the last month of his life hiding from Potter, even when Granger was petrified. That was around when he’d realised who had actually been planning all the attacks and tried to stop them. Riddle’s diary was too powerful, though, and it was impossible to getaway. His last memory was of a handsome boy erupting from the pages and stealing his wand.

“Are we in the fucking Chamber of Secrets right now? Yuck!”

“I missed your potty mouth.” He sighed. They huddled together on the grimy floor for another minute. “We should probably get back. Ron’ll be waiting.”

“Yes, okay,” Draco said. He tried to stand but immediately fell back down. A numb pain throbbed in his leg, like a heartbeat. “Not to be a downer, but I think Riddle broke a bone.”

“Shut up,” Potter said, not unkindly. Potter heaved Draco up and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Lean on me, or we’ll never get out of here. It’s a good thing you’re so skinny.”

Slowly, carefully, they made their way out of the gloomy place. Weasley met them at the exit, along with a very-confused-looking Lockhart. Nothing made sense. Draco felt like he was going to faint, and the pain in his leg got worse with each step. It felt like someone was stabbing at him. “Hold on, I need a second.”

Potter laid him gently on the floor. Lockhart kept asking stupid questions that made them all snort.

“Is this where you three live?”

“I live further down the sewers,” Weasley replied. Draco giggled, incredulous. “You just have to take a right, and you’ll see my smelly old chamber. I keep my cows in there.”

It must’ve taken them an hour to finally get out. Draco’s cheeks kept getting fresh tears falling over them, which neither Gryffindor’s pointed out— clearly they valued their lives. “What actually happened? My memory is a little fuzzy.”

Weasley and Potter shared a look. Then, “Well, we were visiting Hermione in the hospital wing and we found this slip of paper in her hand. We had to pry it out, but it turned out to be what was attacking all the students. A basilisk.”

“I’m such an idiot,” Draco said. A memory surfaced in his mind, from months ago. That dream. The answer had been right in front of him the entire time.

“Right,” Weasley continued. “After we found the note, McGonagall announced another student had been attacked, only worse this time, as they’d been taken into the actual chamber. Harry and me snuck into the teacher’s office and found who the student was— you, obviously.”

Draco nodded along.

“Harry had some kind of epiphany about the entrance being inside Myrtle’s bathroom, so we found Lockhart and came in. The place sort of crashed onto us as soon we went in, though, which is why we were separated.”

Potter needed to finish the story. He was the only one who knew what had gone down in the main chamber. And apparently, it was a lot.

“You killed the basilisk, got rid of the Dark Lord for a second time, almost got yourself killed as well, all before my life force was drained beyond repair. Should I be thanking you?” Draco asked as they turned down a corridor towards the Hospital Wing.

“Nah,” Potter said. They arrived at Pomfrey’s doors. “I didn’t go down with the intention to actually battle anything. I just wanted to save my friend.”

Draco held back a gasp, and blinked away more tears. He wondered how he still had any left.

Madam Pomfrey swung open the door with a scream. She was in her nightclothes but clearly hadn’t been sleeping. She levitated Draco over to the hospital bed beside Granger’s, Potter and Weasley close behind. “What a mess! What a mess! One of you, go fetch Minerva. She’ll be in her office.”

Weasley hurried off. Pomfrey started fixing up his leg. Draco bit down on the pain and grabbed onto Potter’s hand.

A few moments later, six people came running in. Two of them were Draco’s parents, who let out a huge sigh of relief at the sight of him, while the others were Severus, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Weasley. They all, except for Ron, seemed very distraught.

“My darling!” his mother said, pushing Potter out of the way to grab onto Draco. “You’re alive. Oh, thank you, thank you.”

“You never said your mum was barmy, Malfoy,” Weasley murmured. It choked a dry laugh out of Draco.

Lucius came next. He placed a solemn hand on Draco’s shoulder, and said, “I’m glad you’re alright.”

Severus didn’t say anything, but he did nod when everyone else was turned away. Draco smiled down at his legs.

Pomfrey was finished with the bone, and had taken on the job of clearing away the blood that Potter’s arm was covered in. There wasn’t a clear wound anywhere, but she still needed to double-check.

“What a night it has been,” a new voice announced. They all looked over to the doors, where Professor Dumbledore stood. He clapped his hands together, “Harry, Ron, it’s about time I had a talk with you both. And Mr Malfoy, I’ll come by tomorrow morning, yes?”

He left without waiting for a response. Potter gave one last squeeze to Draco’s hand before following after him. Weasley waved a short goodbye, too.

Which left Draco feeling very uncomfortable and very alone as the adults prodded at him.

*

_June 27th 1993_

_I have missed writing without a response. I’m narcissistic that way._

_Mother and Father have been treating me like a glass doll, which I quite like. No more tense silences during dinner, or snarky replies from any of us. It’s like me being put in mortal danger has given them a sense of perspective. It’s a good thing, too, as I don’t even want to be a Slytherin, anymore._

_Dobby has been freed, which was probably for the best. He was always late delivering books and food to me, and I definitely won’t miss the little fiend. I hope he’s happy being a free elf. Harry promised me he is._

_Oh, yeah. Did you catch that? Harry Potter is actually responding to my letters this time around. It’s a very nice feeling, and I think I might have a crush on the idiot. I only tell you, diary, because I know you’re not like Riddle and won’t go spilling my secrets to the first living organism you encounter._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> draco malfoy, ladies and gentlemen...


	4. Does This Count As A Family Reunion?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Draco wished he had never befriended Harry Potter, simply so he wouldn’t have to get caught up in the inevitable drama that came with each year.

"What's Looney Lovegood wearing?"

Draco whirled around, only to knock right into the girl herself, as she had already spotted him and begun to walk serenely in his direction. "Luna!"

"Hello, Draco." She smiled softly at him. "Did you have a lovely summer?"

"Oh, yes. Severus allowed me to watch him brew some advanced potions that he's been working on for Pomfrey, and Mother has even allowed me to take Muggle Studies this year— as long as Father doesn't find out."

They abandoned his search for chocolate frogs and found a compartment with Boot and Corner, quickly joining a conversation about whether Arithmancy would be a better class than Ancient Runes. (Luna opened up the latest Quibbler, instead.) Draco must have fallen asleep at some point because when he woke up it much was darker outside the window, and colder inside the train.

He moved to look out and investigate, but Luna held onto his wrist before he could stand. She shook her head minutely.

A loud crash from another compartment made Draco flinch. Another moment passed and all the lights went out, plunging them into a pool of darkness. Luna's fingers on his wrist moved into his palm. He squeezed her hand, she squeezed back.

"What— what d'you think is going on?"

Draco shrugged, then remembered there were no lights. "Whatever it is, it's terrible."

Something worse than the shadows passed by their door, making loud wheezing sounds as it moved down the train. It was like somebody had taken Draco's very soul, and pulled apart the fickle joy which had gathered there over the summer. He had to blink away the tears that began to gather in his eyes.

Then, as if somebody had simply needed to flick their wand, light surrounded them again. Draco's breathing came a little easier.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Corner said. His face was an unnatural white.

Draco licked his lips, belatedly realising that his attempt to stop crying had failed. His cheeks were wet.

Luna was the one to answer after a beat of silence passed between the four. "It was a dementor. Daddy says they look after the prisoners in Azkaban. That one was probably looking for Sirius Black."

Sirius Black. Draco knew him— well, not knew-knew. They were related through his mother, and Draco had a vague memory of meeting Walburga Black before she died. That woman had been as bitter as he was dramatic. All she'd talk about was her blood-traitor son who ended up in Azkaban even after all his little rebellions as a teenager.

Black been a Gryffindor, too. Draco found out about that after raiding his mother's closet as a child and finding photos of both Sirius and his little brother at Hogwarts together. Sirius had been wearing a red tie and was likely only in second or third year at the time. Draco thinks they're a bit alike, in the breaking away from family traditions way— not the murdering Muggles and following the Dark Lord way. A shame, really, that Sirius wasn’t actually as cool as those photos made him out to be.

"Don't look so sad, Draco, the dementors aren't going to hurt you." Luna pulled him up, hand still holding his. "How about we get some chocolate frogs? I know you missed out earlier, and those always cheer you up."

*

Draco was late to his first Divination lesson. He had forgotten his books at the Ravenclaw tower and wasted about five minutes trying to answer the door's riddle. A sixth-year student had eventually taken pity and let him in. It then took another few minutes to find the stupid classroom, where it seemed everyone was waiting for his arrival. A bit embarrassing, especially after realising Luna had left a flower behind his ear during their impromptu picnic at lunch.

Mortified, Draco dropped into the seat beside Potter. He also shoved Luna's flower into his bag.

"Welcome to Divination, my children," the teacher said, clasping her hands together. "My name is Professor Trelawney. You may not have seen me before, as I find that being around the main bustle of the school tends to cloud my Inner Eye."

He raised a dubious eyebrow at that. Draco had been under the impression that if you wanted to see into the future, it was as easy as staring into a couple of crystal balls and writing down whatever showed up. It was sort of why he'd taken the class— something simple, not so complicated. Arithmancy was fun, and sort of had the same idea as Divination, only a lot more precise.

There was also the matter of Draco's wand.

"So. You have decided to study the art of Divination, although I now realise some of you—" Here, she sent a meaningful glance in Draco's direction. "have already begun to unveil the mysteries of the future. This gift is extraordinarily rare."

The rest of her speech was lost on him. It sounded like she was just repeating the same stuff, so he guessed it would be alright to zone out. It was only when Granger jabbed him in the arm that he realised the class had moved onto... staring into teacups? Somebody, probably Potter, had gotten one for Draco, as well.

"You're meant to stir it, dear," Trelawney muttered as she walked past them, probably noticing Draco's confusion.

A few minutes later, everybody was swapping cups. Weasley took his, while Draco grabbed Potter's. Granger stared into Weasley's, and Potter got hers.

"Let's see what's in your future, Malfoy." Weasley turned the cup around a couple of times, squinting at one point. "Now, I suppose that could be an artichoke, which is meant to represent..." He paused and looking down at his _Unfogging The Future_ copy. "Um. Extreme sadness? And those look a bit like glasses."

Draco ignored Potter's head whipping up

"Glasses means great discovery. I wonder what about."

This was all making him very uncomfortable, so Draco just started describing Potter's dregs. "This blob here might be a hat. Maybe you'll work at the Ministry. I'm sure that would be fun." He laughed.

Professor Trelawney came sweeping past again but paused in front of them this time. She looked at Draco and then snatched the cup from him. She turned it anti-clockwise over and over, tilting her head slightly. "The falcon, a deadly enemy.. The club, an attack... A skull, danger in your path. Oh dear, this is not a happy cup."

Finally, Trelawney gave one final turn. She glanced in, then gasped and let out a scream. The students who had already been watching immediately huddled around their table. "Oh, goodness— my, boy, oh! You have, you have the _Grim_!"

*

On Friday afternoon, he had Professor Lupin for the first time. The man arrived late, with a set of robes that looked far too old to even be worn. His hair was a light brown, and though he looked young, his eyes were old. Draco didn't know what to think of him.

Severus had told him not to go in with high expectations, despite all the Gryffindor's waxing poetry about their lesson, which led Draco to think his godfather was just being petty about something.

Lupin led them into an abandoned classroom when he finally showed up, where a single set of drawers was rattling in the corner. A few students jumped back.

"Don't be afraid," Professor Lupin began, "I had Dumbledore find a few boggarts for me so I could teach you all how to repel the creatures. So, let's begin. Does anybody know what a boggart is?"

From there, the lesson went rather smoothly. This lasted until Lupin decided it was time to actually use their new knowledge and had Draco go up first.

"So, Mr Malfoy, what would you say is your greatest fear?"

He thought about his dreams, the ones that showed him battles and death. They were scary, sure, but not his greatest fear. Perhaps a snake, then. Draco definitely didn't like those much, especially after last year. Although, that man could show up— the one with the scarlet eyes and paper skin. No, that wouldn’t happen. Surely. Draco would just settle with, "A basilisk, sir."

Professor Lupin pursed his lips, then nodded to himself. "Alright. When I pull out the drawers, the boggart will manifest itself into a basilisk. I need you to think about one of those skinny balloons, that can be tied into animals. Got it? Yes? Let's go."

He reached out his hand to the drawers handle. Draco held out his wand, the counter-spell ready on his lips.

But a basilisk is not what came out. It was something much worse. Severus Snape came toppling to the floor, blood leaking from the wounds on his neck. A weak, hurt gasp came from the man's mouth. Draco's breathing came out short as the nightmare he'd tried so hard to forget became true right in front of him. Severus was dead. Dead, dead, dead. And now everyone else knew, too.

Hardly aware of the sob that came from Padma behind him, Draco ran for the doors.

*

_Sept 7th 1993_

_My mother wants me to start having monthly sessions with my Mind-Healer again. Severus has even offered to let me use the Floo in his office._

_The appointment is set for October, and I'm dreading it. I'm not a Janus Thickey patient, despite what everyone at school has been saying._

*

For the next few weeks, people would stare at Draco with either pity or alarm; sometimes both. And worse, whenever he closed his eyes, that same image came to mind; Severus turning pale and still, his chest growing still. After one particularly awful night of this, Corner forced him into the Hospital Wing so Pomfrey could give him a Dreamless Sleep and Calming Draught. He only left feeling worse.

Not even a Floo visit from his mother helped to cheer him up. She'd gotten permission to call and tell him that he was to start having sessions with Terra, his old Mind-Healer, again— apparently all the teachers were getting concerned, mainly Lupin, so it was necessary that he wastes some of his own weekends to 'talk about his feelings'. He hadn't liked these sessions when he was younger, and he definitely wouldn't, now.

"Have you got your permission slip signed?" Granger asked in late October, the evening before their first Hogsmeade weekend.

"Sure, but I'm not going," Draco said. "I've got a... family thing. I'm allowed to leave the grounds that day."

Truthfully, he had a session with Terra that day, but he wasn't prepared to admit it to anyone. It would be seen as a weakness, and Malfoy's didn't do weaknesses.

They entered the Great Hall together. Granger sat down with him at the Ravenclaw table, as apparently, she'd gotten into a row with Weasley about their pets. Draco didn't really mind, though she'd taken to constantly correcting things in his homework, which was annoying.

"Well, if you get home from your family thing early, you can spend some time with Harry. He's not going, either."

_Probably for the better_ , Draco thought. Sirius Black might see it as an opportunity to attack.

"Maybe." He scooped a bit of mashed potato onto his plate. "Have you finished your essay for Muggle studies yet?"

They were supposed to read a book about how Muggles perceived magic, and write how it differed to the real thing. Draco had been assigned a short novel called Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. It was a lot of fun, surprisingly.

Before she could answer, Luna sat down in the seat beside Draco. Her wand was placed behind her ear, and she was wearing a new charm around her neck. Neither Draco or Granger commented on it, as they were used to her strange accessories by now. "Have you two read the new Quibbler article yet?"

Draco smiled. "Are you referring to the one where your father theorises that my cousin is secretly the lead-singer of the Hobgoblins?"

She nodded and stole a piece of chicken from him.

Granger looked between them both. "Why is her dad writing about your cousin? Who's your cousin?"

"Sirius Black," Draco said absently. Granger choked on her pumpkin juice. "Technically, it's first cousin once removed. Or was it third? Probably both, actually. Did you know his parents were second cousins?"

She was gaping now. Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I got really unlucky in the family department." He tapped his chin, pretending to think. "Let's see. Aunt Bella got herself locked up in Azkaban after torturing two Aurors, Sirius killed all those Muggles, everyone is obsessed with blood purity, and don't even get me started on what Grandfather Abraxas did to one of the—"

Granger made a strangled noise. The students nearby had gone quiet to listen. Draco's cheeks began to feel very, very warm.

"Don't stop now! Your family history is so interesting!" Luna said brightly.

The next morning, Draco decided he'd rather die than attend the stupid therapy session. He hid under his covers until Severus sent an older Ravenclaw student to come up and drag him out of bed. He skipped breakfast and went straight down to the dungeons. The plan was for Draco to go through the Floo network, meet his mother at St Mungo's, and then spend an hour of his life with a woman who once claimed he was depressed. He'd been eight.

"It's good to see you again, Draco," Terra said when the session began. She poured him a cup of tea. "When I found out about the dementors at Hogwarts, I was very worried about a lot of the students! My daughter, Daphne, wrote to me and said Harry Potter faints whenever he comes close to one. Not a surprise, really, knowing _his_ past..."

Draco hugged his knees to his chest. "They're not so bad. Dumbledore doesn't let them inside the castle or anything."

She tilted her head at him. "If you say so, child. Now, do you have anything specific you'd like to talk about? Your dreams? Girls, perhaps?"

Later that night, Ravenclaw and the rest of the houses were evacuated to the Great Hall. Draco and Luna moved their sleeping bags into the corner where Potter, Weasley, and Granger had situated themselves. Immediately, they explained what had happened— Black had found a way into the castle, and made an attack on... the Fat Lady?

"How could he have gotten inside at all, though?"

None of the Gryffindor's knew how to answer.

"I wonder if he would've gotten the riddle right if he tried Ravenclaw tower," Luna mused quietly, tying her long hair into a pretty bun.

"Not with all that inbreeding, certainly," Draco said. "Even I can't get in half the time!"

Weasley scrunched his face up in disgust at the word inbreeding. Draco pushed down the urge to laugh, as Percy Weasley was shushing at them. "Anyway, you shouldn't worry too much. Black may not have been visibly affected by the dementors, but something still would've gone wrong inside him after all that time in Azkaban. He'll be caught in no time."

Luna smiled fondly at him. He did it back. Potter cleared his throat noisily. "We should probably try to sleep."

"Yeah, probably." Draco laid down and turned his head so he could face Luna as he slept. She did the same.

*

The next two months passed quickly for all the students. By the time the second Hogsmeade weekend was announced, a layer of snow had fallen over Hogwarts, a pretty reminder of the holiday ahead.

Draco was actually attending his classes on time, too. Muggle Studies got more interesting with each lesson, along with Arithmancy. Divination was harder to explain. Granger was set on hating it, and Weasley and Potter always treated it like a joke. Trelawney _was_ a joke, but Draco knew the actual art of Divination wasn't. Wizarding history was filled with real prophecies and Seers. It was just at this point in them they'd gotten pretty unlucky with their fortune-tellers.

The village turned out lovely. Draco spent his first hour wandering into shops to find things he could buy for Luna's Christmas present. Just as he'd been deciding whether she'd prefer a box of Jelly Slugs or some Peppermint Toads, Potter's head popped up beside him.

"What the fuck!" he screeched. "How are you here? I thought— of course. I should've realised you'd use your invisibility cloak."

"Not just that," Potter said. "Fred and George gave me this map of Hogwarts. It's got a bunch of secret passageways and tells me where everyone is at."

Draco didn't really like the sound of that. He wasn't a fan of anything that seemed sentient after last year. "Maybe you should have McGonagall look at it."

Potter shrugged, and then started pulling him out of the shop. "Ron and Hermione should be at the Three Broomsticks. Let's go see them."

"What, and interrupt their date?"

Oh. Draco's not sure where that had come from.

"They're not on a date," Potter said, oblivious.

They entered the warm Inn. Potter was right— Weasley and Granger were sat at a table near the back, sipping on Butterbeer. They headed over.

A few minutes later, Draco looked up to see the door opening, and four adults coming in. He shoved Potter underneath the table. "Stop squirming you idiot! The teachers are here, and... And the Minister?"

He shared a look with Weasley. Potter finally went quiet at his feet. Granger levitated a Christmas tree to hide their table from view.

*

_Jan 2nd 1994_

_It has been over a week since I saw Potter, and I worry for him. He was so distraught after learning of Black's status as his godfather._

_He still managed to buy me a set of boots for Christmas (which I got to spend at the Manor), and a short note that had my heart... I don't know. I don't have the right words to articulate it._

_One of Hagrid's pets has been scheduled for a trial in April. Apparently, Blaise Zabini's mother has some influence in the Ministry— probably from one of her many husbands. I'm not usually one to gossip, but all of her marriages have ended in death. So, draw your own conclusions. Anyway, the Hippogriff will likely be executed, all because Zabini has milked his stupid injury for all its worth. Pomfrey probably healed it in no time, like she did my leg in second-year, yet the whole population of Hogwarts believes that he might end up handicapped for life!_

_My dreams haven't been too bad, luckily. There was one with a wedding, except it ended in some kind of attack. As the nights go by I begin to wonder where my mind conjures these images from. They seem so real, and with that Tom Riddle one from two years ago? I don't know. Trelawney must be getting to me._

_Tomorrow I go back to Hogwarts. Maybe it'll be a drama-free term, for once._

*

It was _not_ a drama-free term. When Draco got back to Hogwarts, he quickly realised that Granger's fight with Weasley had gotten worse, as it now seemed to include Potter as well. He'd gotten a Firebolt for Chrismas, only for it to be taken away that same day. Such poor luck. Though, Draco didn't really blame Granger for wanting to turn it in. Potter hasn't had much luck in Quidditch so far, and it very well could be cursed.

Yet, when February came, the broomstick was returned and deemed perfectly safe. Draco finally thought the three would get over their little spat, only for Weasley's ugly rat to go missing the same night. He claimed Granger's cat had stolen it.

On February twelve, Draco resigned himself to missing a second Hogsmeade trip for another appointment with Terra. They talked about utterly meaningless things for the hour, and when he finally got back to Hogwarts, he was ready to climb into bed and forget the rest of the world. His plans were interrupted by an invisible Harry Potter, who knocked right into him and pushed them both to the floor.

"Why are you creeping around in that thing!" Draco shouted, groping the air for the stupid cloak. He finally found it and pulled it off of Potter.

"I was trying to sneak out." Potter folded it up and stuffed it into his pocket. In his other hand, he held the map. "But if you're back early, we can just mess around for the rest of the day."

Draco choked. "Did you just say _mess_ around?"

"Um, yes. Like, explore the castle. We have the map to help us and stuff..."

_Oh, Merlin_ , he thought. Draco had been reading way too many romance books to have taken that in a different way.

"I don't know, Potter. I was thinking about just taking a nap."

"Really? Hogsmeade that boring, huh?"

"What? No. I wasn't at Hogsmeade," Draco blurted. He clapped a hand over his mouth when he realised his mistake.

Potter's caterpillar eyebrows furrowed. "Then where were you? Hold on, have you been ignoring me? I've been inside this castle all morning, by myself, and you just left me to it?"

"No! Of course not! I was— I was doing something. Away from the castle. My, er, mother has taken ill, and I went to visit her."

"I know what you act like when you're lying, Draco."

Draco looked away, embarrassed. "It's a secret. I don't really want to tell you."

"So you lied instead? Look, you don't owe me anything, but friends shouldn't keep stuff from each other. Not big stuff, anyway. Like, you were there for me when I was a wreck about Black. I wanted to kill him."

"It's a bit of a long story."

Potter stepped closer. "We have time."

"Okay. Put that cloak back on, and we can sneak into Ravenclaw tower."

It took him even longer to get past the riddle with Potter breathing near his ear, though eventually he managed. Draco ran up to his empty dormitory, and sat down on his bed, back straight. A memory from first-year surfaced, just for a moment. _Malfoy's only sit like that for big events, or something._

Something, indeed.

Potter sat down beside him. He pulled the cloak off himself. "It's nice in here. Very blue. Pretty stars.”

"You're not meant to be in here, you know," Draco murmured. "It's against the rules."

"So, what? I'm not meant to go to Hogsmeade without a permission slip signed, yet I still went, anyway."

He let out a breath. Potter tapped his fingers on his knee. An uncomfortable silence settled over them. Then, "You'll think I'm mad if I tell you. Everyone else who knows does."

Potter shrugged and turned his head so they were staring at each other. "It can't be that bad."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Draco said, nervous. He stood up and then crouched down on the ground. He reached his hand under the bed as far as he could manage and pulled out a pile of notebooks. Each one was filled with careful recounts of almost every dream he'd ever had. As well as other things; things that Potter most certainly could not hear about. "When I was eight, I started getting these... dreams. They were really bad, so my parents started taking me to therapy sessions. I stopped going after a while, but with all the dementors being at Hogwarts, I've had to start going again. That's where I was today.

"These diaries, I've been writing in them since I was little. I've dated most of them, so you can see that it's been going on awhile. It's one of the reasons why Riddle's diary enticed me so much."

A beat passed. Potter hesitantly grabbed the one at the top of the pile. Draco's hands flinched to grab it from him, but he stopped himself. They were friends. He trusted Potter. Mostly.

Potter opened it up to a random page. Draco read over his shoulder. It was one of the older ones, before he'd started at Hogwarts. The entry mostly detailed his daily routine, but at the end, he'd written a recount of a dream in messy, childish handwriting. _There was an old man that wept in his prison cell. He had different-coloured eyes, which seemed to scream of knowledge that he wasn’t supposed to have._

Draco waited for some kind of reaction, but Potter just kept reading. He got to the last page in no time, and finally looked up. “Some of these seem really familiar, you know.”

“Oh?” Draco replied, knowing very well what he meant. Some of those entries talked about his dreams of Potter’s adventures, well before they’d even met. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Look at this one.” He shoved the book at Draco and pointed to a line that spoke of green eyes and baby dragons. “You’ve practically rewritten exactly what happened to Hagrid’s old pet, Norbert. But— no one ever told you about that. Not properly, at least.”

“Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

The sound of turning pages flipped through the room. Potter grabbed a second notebook and landed on another dream he recognised, “And I suppose this is a coincidence, too? Why didn’t you say you’d dreamed about Riddle before any of it even happened?”

“Because it scares me!” Draco shrieked. He grabbed the diaries back and placed them back under his bed. “If my dreams are meant to come true, then what about the really bad ones? The ones of war, and my fucking godfather bleeding out in front of me? When I told Severus about that, he said I was wasting his time with silly stories! That’s why I, I even go to the therapy sessions! They manage to convince me I’m only paranoid, if only for a few hours.”

Some of that he’d never even let himself think about, let alone say. Yet Draco knew it was true. Because, the reality was, the dreams terrified him; not because they were bloody and elaborate, but because they might be _real_. And this secret had been buried so far down, only the great Harry Potter could dig it back up.

Potter stared at him, silent. Draco fell back onto his bed and pulled a pillow over his face. “Suffocate me, please. I’d rather not exist, anymore.”

“Oh, Draco,” Potter murmured. He grabbed the pillow and smiled sadly at him. “I get dreams too, that I’m sure are real. Perhaps we’re both insane.”

“The Daily Prophet would be in chaos if they heard you say that.”

“I don’t care.” Potter hesitated and then laid down beside him, so they were both facing the bed’s navy blue canopy. “I don’t want to get you worked up again, but Trelawney always refuses to start class when you’re late. She doesn’t do that for anyone else.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. He knew what was coming.

“Perhaps she was onto something. I think, maybe, possibly, you might be a Seer. A real one.”

*

The next few weeks were probably the best in Draco’s life. He and Potter would meet at the library in the evenings to research everything they could find about Seer’s, but would often get bored and just talk for up to an hour. Divination became enjoyable as well, as Potter developed the tendency to ask Draco if he knew what the weather would be like for any upcoming Quidditch matches, or if he could see Granger and Weasley making up in the lines of their palms. He couldn’t, obviously, and Potter knew that— it was all just good fun. Still, though, the more time they spent together, the more Draco’s pulse would flutter and cheeks blush around him.

Luna, of course, noticed. She didn’t have much tact on a good day, so it wasn’t surprising when she sat down in the Great Hall one morning and asked him, straight-out, if Draco had a crush on Harry Potter.

“What? No! That’s just— ridiculous. I’d rather eat my own puke than fancy that idiot.”

“Okay. So you don’t mind if I tell you Cho Chang mentioned she found him quite cute, as well?”

He frowned and didn’t feel particularly hungry anymore.

“Please don’t tell anyone. I’ve heard it’s not exactly... accepted among Muggles for boys to like other boys,” Draco said, afraid. Luna reached across the table and held onto his hands.

“You’re my best friend, of course, I’ll keep it a secret,” Luna replied. A serious light had entered her eyes like never before. “And I think I’m rather fond of girls myself.”

That evening, all the students were once more taken to the Great Hall. He rushed over to Potter, who told him the summary of what had happened. Black got into the castle again and had tried attacking Weasley. Everyone was already whispering about how he’d mistaken Ron’s bed for Potter’s.

“Neville kept forgetting the passwords, so he wrote them all down. Black got a hold of them,” Potter went on. “I think you were right about what you said months ago; about something deep inside the guy being wrong. He’s come all this way, but somehow mixed up the beds?”

Draco shrugged and settled into his sleeping bag.

*

Sometime around Easter, Draco entered the Divination classroom to find every table filled with crystal balls. This was strange because they weren’t meant to start crystal-gazing till next term. He hurried over to their usual desk, where Potter was telling Weasley to not complain. “At least we’ve finished palmistry... Hello, Draco. Where have you just come from?”

“Defence,” he answered. “Lupin had us go over our Vampire essays. I think he was very pleased with mine.”

“Have you figured it out?” Granger said, ominously. Draco briefly wondered if she’d gone mad.

“Figured out what?”

“Good morning!” a misty, familiar voice interrupted. Professor Trelawney seemed to have appeared from the shadows. A pair of Gryffindor girls made excited sounds. “I have decided to begin teaching you of the intricate art of crystal-gazing early. I sincerely doubt any of you will get it on your first try, but I am anxious to give you a sufficient amount of time to practice before exams!”

And so it began. Draco’s eyes started stinging after staring into his crystal ball for only five minutes, and if it weren’t for Granger’s complaining, he would’ve fallen asleep.

“Seen anything yet?” Potter asked.

He hummed a little no. Weasley made a joke about there being lots of fog tonight, just as Trelawney came sweeping past. She tutted at the four of them. “You won’t be Seeing anything like that!”

Trelawney stood behind Draco and placed two hands on the side of his face. Her golden bangles were cold on his cheeks. “Clear your mind, child, keep your thoughts empty.”

Draco took a deep breath and blocked out everyone around him. He thought of how he felt after his most terrible dreams, the fear in his veins. He focused on the swirling white fog inside the orbs and Saw... “What the fuck?”

He pushed his chair backwards, forcing Trelawney to move with it. She hissed questions at him, unconcerned about the students around them. Draco breathed in through his mouth, out through his nose. “What have you seen? What was it? Was it the Grim? What have you seen?”

It was, truthfully, quite embarrassing what had appeared inside the crystal ball. Draco was perhaps expecting images of war, or dead bodies strewn across a field, but instead, he’d seen something even worse. He’d seen an older Hermione Granger, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, with her arms locked tightly around Ron Weasley’s neck. They’d been _kissing_ , inside of a seemingly destroyed stairwell. “Nothing! I saw nothing!”

Granger, who Draco doubted he’d ever look at the same again, stood up. “Honestly, you can’t actually believe he’s seen something! What utter rubbish!”

“Hold on, Hermione—” Potter started to say.

“My dear, it has been obvious ever since you stepped foot in this classroom that you do not have what it takes to be successful in the noble art of Divination,” Trelawney said, her wide eyes glaring down at Hermione. “And frankly, I don’t ever remember a student whose mind was so hopelessly mundane.”

Granger went silent, eyes furious. Suddenly, she began to pack up her things. She shoved her _Unfogging the Future_ copy into her bag, along with her timetable that had been laid out on the table. “Fine! I give up, then! I’m leaving!”

She strode over to the trapdoor, kicked it open, and disappeared down the hole. The class watched in amazement, right until Granger was completely out of sight. Thankfully for Draco, everyone then became too distracted to even remember what had started the whole thing. Potter, however, did not. He turned to Draco, and said, “Did you really See something?”

Draco shook his head, lying. The last thing he’d wanted from today was to see Granger and Weasley swapping spit, albeit in the future.

“I don’t really believe you,” Potter continued. “But I won’t bring it up again.”

*

_June 6th 1994_

_Today was our exams. I think I did rather shit on the Divination one, which is ironic. All I saw was a bunch of fog. For DADA, I chickened out before the boggart part. I just couldn’t do it._

_Luna organised a late birthday party for me, which was very kind. She invited all the Ravenclaw boys, some Hufflepuff’s, and even Severus. He only made a short appearance, simply to drop off a gift, but I was thankful for it. He’s been more distant, lately. I have a feeling it’s because of my friendship with Potter._

_Potter_.

_He’s been acting strange too, ever since his own Divination exam. He won’t say anything about it, though. I hope it’s nothing bad._

*

The tunnel seemed to never end. Draco crawled and crawled, but the darkness didn’t have a finish in sight. His knees were aching, and concern for a Weasley was making him feel confused. Potter murmured something he couldn’t quite catch and kept moving. Finally, the tunnel began to rise, twist, and Granger’s stupid cat was gone from view. A faint light showed up in the corner of his eye.

The three of them crept forward slowly, wands raised in front of them. They emerged inside a dusty, disordered room. Draco instantly recognised it.

He pressed a hand over his mouth and took a step closer to Potter as if it would help. But, no. Not even the most handsome man in the world could stop the memory from flushing through him. Severus would die on this very floor, perhaps tonight...

“Harry,” he whimpered, vulnerable. “I can’t stay here.”

A sound upstairs stopped Harry from replying.

“I think we’re in the Shrieking Shack,” Granger whispered.

Quietly, they moved out into the hall and took the stairs up onto the second floor. Draco was afraid one of the floorboards would creak and that evil man would jump out, blasting them with green light.

Only one door was open. As the three stepped closer to it, a pained moan and loud purring came from inside. Draco hardened his jaw, swallowed any fears, and went first.

Weasley sat on a huge four-poster bed in the middle of the room, his leg bent in the same way Draco’s had been in the Chamber of Secrets. _Broken_ , he thought. That black dog had done a real number on him.

Potter moved first, Draco and Granger only a step behind. They each bombarded him with questions:

“Are you alright?”

“Where’s the dog?”

“Can you move?”

“It’s not a dog,” Weasley murmured between clenched teeth. “Harry, it’s a trap... The dog is an animagus. Black, he’s—”

Weasley’s rant stopped. He was staring over Potter’s shoulder, mouth dropped open in a comical O. Draco spun around, and with a lasting bang, the door snapped shut. A man emerged from the shadows, black hair grew out to his elbows, and arms so thin they looked like they belonged on a corpse. Worst of all, he was grinning.

Draco wasn’t going to deny it. He screamed. Sirius Black’s grey eyes were familiar and filled with satisfaction.

“Expelliarmus!” Black shouted. His voice was dry. Draco, hysterically, wondered if he should offer the man a glass of water. Three wands flew into his hands. “I knew you’d come and help your friend, Harry. It’s what your father would’ve done for me.”

“Don’t try anything,” Draco found himself saying. His voice didn’t sound like his own. It was protective, brave. “You’ll have to go through us first.”

Black’s face stretched into a snarl. “Malfoy’s boy, is it? I should’ve known you’d get your filthy, cowardly into Harry.”

That... hurt. Like, a lot more than Draco expected it to. He’s tried so hard to be more than a Death Eater’s son, to be more than Lucius’ gross ideals. It had taken months for him to even think of challenging what he’d always been taught— but he had done it, eventually. And sure, perhaps without the dreams, he never would’ve bothered, but Black had no fucking right to just assume he was some carbon-copy of his father; that his friendship with Harry was clouded in something malicious.

Draco’s breathing was coming out short and sporadic. Not now, he begged. This was the worst time for a panic attack. Harry needed him.

He thought of Sev’s counting exercises and his mother’s soothing voice. One, two... Five, six...

“There will only be one death tonight,” Black was saying, but he paid no attention.

Nine, ten.

They launched at Black as a group. Harry went for his chest, while Granger scrambled for their wands. Weasley, with his broken leg, staggered over and stopped Crookshanks from interfering. Draco got a hold of his wand and pointed it at the man. The others followed suit.

“Are you going to kill me, Harry?” Black asked. Potter’s hand didn’t falter. “You’ll regret it. You don’t know half the story—”

“You killed my parents.”

Black neither denied or confirmed it.

“You sold them out to Voldemort, killed all those Muggles. They trusted you. They fucking trusted you!”

Draco, briefly, felt very proud of Harry. He never swore.

“So, yeah, I reckon I could kill you, but you deserve a fate worse than death for what you’ve done. I think I’ll just leave you to the dementors.”

*

Sometimes, Draco wished he had never befriended Harry Potter, simply so he wouldn’t have to get caught up in the inevitable drama that came with each year.

Harry and Granger had disappeared after Sirius a moment before, leaving him to deal with Severus and Weasley; plus a werewolf that could come back any moment. Draco licked his lips, and noticed Sev’s eyelids fluttering. “You’re alive!” he said, relieved. Who knew three disarming spells could knock someone out for so long? “You’ve got to listen to me, Black was innocent the whole time! It’s all because of Ron’s rat! Peter Pettigrew is alive, and an unregistered—”

“Help me with Weasley,” Severus interrupted. “Where are Potter and Granger?”

Draco pointed in the direction they’d gone. “They went to help Sirius, I think he’s injured. But be careful, Professor Lupin is somewhere out there...”

“The werewolf would be deep in the forest by now, I won’t be anywhere near it.” He stood up and conjured a stretcher for Ron. “I’ll go fetch Black, though the dementors would’ve sensed him by now.”

“What? But they’ve got the wrong man!”

Severus raised an eyebrow, seriously doubtful. “You really should stop hanging around Gryffindor’s so much. They’re making you act incredibly stupid.” With that, he left to go find Potter, Granger, and Sirius.

Draco pursed his lips, looked down at Ron’s still figure, and began levitating him up the hill they were on.

_All this because Harry insisted we come by Hagrid’s before Buckbeak’s execution,_ he thought as he walked up to the castle. _I should’ve just said no_.

When Draco finally reached the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey didn’t bother with too many questions and just set to work at fixing Ron’s broken bone. It looked painful, so he looked away and hoped the others would be okay. He had been a bit mad when they attacked Severus in the shack, but it would be worth it to let Sirius walk as a free man, again. No innocent witch or wizard deserves to rot in Azkaban for the rest of their lives.

A little bit later, Severus arrived in the Hospital Wing with Potter and Granger floating along behind him. They were passed out.

“What happened? Where’s Sirius?”

“Getting the dementors kiss, I expect,” Severus said, blandly.

Pomfrey kicked them out then, so they continued speaking outside. “But I’ve just told you he didn’t kill anyone! It was all Pettigrew!”

“Peter Pettigrew was killed twelve years ago!” Snape snapped, suddenly angry. “I don’t know what Black has told you, but he proved himself capable of murder when he was sixteen-years-old! He deserves exactly what he’s going to get, so I won’t hear any more nonsense about his innocence! What would your father say? He’s already mad you didn’t want him to speak at Hagrid’s trial.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Buckbeak was innocent. Zabini insulted him.”

Severus sneered. “Ever since you started hanging around Potter you’ve been acting differently. I should have put a stop to that friendship when it began.”

“Why? Because you pathetically refuse to let go of some rivalry from your childhood? And now you’re letting it dictate the fate of an innocent man. What. Is. Wrong. With you?”

“Hold your tongue, boy.”

“You disgust me,” Draco said.

“That’s quite enough,” a new voice murmured. Draco blinked and watched Dumbledore take a step between them, like a shield. “Severus, I believe the Minister wishes to speak with you about tonight’s events. Mr Malfoy, walk with me.”

Resisting the urge to throw a stinging hex at a teacher, Draco went with Dumbledore.

*

_June 10 1994_

_I refuse to apologise to Snape for what I said. The man is horrid, and I now understand what Harry was trying to tell me in first-year. I shan’t ever speak to him again._

_Last night, I got this horrible feeling in my gut. Harry had just told me about Trelawney’s prophecy from a few days ago, and I went to sleep wondering if I had ever done it myself, since he said she hadn’t remembered any of it afterwards._

_I dreamt of angry dragons and the Quidditch World Cup. Victor Krum caught the snitch, but Ireland won. Maybe I should take on gambling, what with the whole Seer advantage. Although I suppose that would count as cheating._

_Dumbledore said something that makes me think he knows. About me, I mean. He had me promise to not tell Harry about any more of my dreams, I’m not exactly sure why. The old man may be strange, but he’s no fool, so I think maybe he has a point. If Harry learns more about his future through me, it could mess things up. He’d become bias in his decisions_.

*

“What are you scribbling about?” Harry whispered. Draco jumped, having been so intent on writing everything down, that he hadn’t noticed anyone sitting down beside him. “Can I read it?”

“You most certainly can not!” Draco said, clutching the diary to his chest, cheeks pink. “The future must be kept secret, you fiend!”

Potter held his arms up, grinning. A second later, Granger and Weasley appeared by the door. Their injuries had all healed, and both looked almost entirely back to normal, except for the secretive twinkle in each of their eyes. The four of them had a secret now, and it’s brought them closer together. “You don’t mind if we join you, Malfoy?”

He shook his head, waving a careless hand for them to sit. Weasley took the window seat, Granger beside him.

”It’s a shame you don’t have the Time-Turner, anymore.”

She tilted her head at Draco.

“It could’ve come in handy or something, you know?”

“Would’ve been against the rules,” she said. “if I started using it for things other than my studies.”

“Right, cause you’d never do that.”

At the end of the train ride, Draco let Granger and Weasley leave before blocking Harry from doing so. Something had been bugging him about this whole thing, and it had only occurred to him what it was a minute before.

”I’m sorry you have to go back to those Muggles.”

Potter looked embarrassed. He ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair, avoiding Draco’s eye. “It’s not any different to usual.”

“It is,” Draco said. “Because this time you were meant to be meeting with Sirius at the station, to spend the summer with him. Only, it got all fucked up, and now you aren’t. So, yeah. Sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would let sirius black raw me


	5. Diggory and Dances and Death Eaters

Draco popped his head out of the tent, and a rush of cold layered itself over his pale cheeks.

Wizards of all ages rushed past, yelling obscenities. He cursed himself and then stepped back inside. The tent was large, overly so, and empty. Lucius had disappeared sometime during the night, and his mother had run off somewhere as soon as the attack started, leaving Draco on his own.

He grabbed a jacket from the floor, and tucked his wand inside one of the pockets. A crash sounded somewhere nearby. Draco steeled himself and ran right into the chaos. Immediately, he was swallowed by a crowd of terrified people. _Find Luna_ , a voice reminded him. _Find her, worry later_.

Right. Okay. Easy, peasy.

Draco shouldered past the throng of people, and slowly reached the edge of the forest. He looked over his shoulder, searching for a head of blonde hair. What seemed like every tent was on his fire, giving the busy field an orange glow. He couldn't see Luna anywhere, though, so he kept moving.

Frantic footsteps that weren't his own echoed in every crevice, every shadow. It hardly bothered Draco. He had been through worse.

When his breathing became too painful to keep running, Draco leaned against one of the many trees and whispered a quiet, "Lumos," into the night. The tip of his wand lit up. He tilted his face forward and found the moonlight glittering through the thick branches above him. For some reason, the sight calmed him down. It was familiar; grounding. His friends would be looking up at the same moon, hopefully in a safer position than he was in, now.

A twig snapping had him tensing up, again. He squinted through the numerous trees, and heard a boy saying, "I'm okay. Tripped over a tree-root."

Never before had Draco felt so relieved to hear Ron Weasley's voice. He scrambled over to them, got a glimpse of Harry's face with Granger's own glowing wand, and immediately fell to the forest floor himself.

"Malfoy?" Granger said, incredulously. She lent him a hand to get up with, which Draco took gratefully. Weasley had stood up on his own, and was now brushing away dirt on his red pyjama trousers. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, I expect." Draco wiped the sweat from his forehead, still slightly breathless from his run. "Woke up from all the screaming, and made a break for it. Have any of you seen Luna?"

Weasley shook his head, "Not since before the game. She was setting up a tent with her dad."

"I hope she's alright," Draco murmured, almost to himself. "You three best be off. Those Death-Eaters will be looking for other people to play with, and I'd bet Muggleborn's will be at the top of their list."

The Gryffindor's did, eventually, hurry off without any more comment. Harry flashed him a quick, grateful smile before disappearing back into the dark, and Draco most definitely would not be storing it away for the future.

He started off again, briefly entertaining the hope that Luna had gotten away before any of this even started, but it was unlikely. She'd written him weeks before about the Cup— the Lovegood's had planned to stay the night, just like everyone else who had bought tickets for the occasion. It seemed like such a stupid idea, now. Like, yeah, alright, let's round-up wizards from all around the country and then not expect something to go wrong. Brilliant plan.

More voices came from ahead of him. It sounded like a group of French girls, and Draco could pick up on a bit of what they were saying. His mother had tried teaching him French from an early age, but it had seemed so useless that he'd stopped showing up for the lessons at some point. He could speak it alright now, as long as he did so slowly, but if you asked him to translate something written? It just wouldn't be happening.

When they spotted Draco, one of the girls asked, "Avez-vous vu Madame Maxime? Nous l'avons perdue—"

"Er, non. Je suis English, désolé," Draco said, the words unfamiliar in his mouth. She giggled, probably due to his horrible accent. "Au revoir?"

The main girl laughed again and waved him goodbye. As Draco walked on, he thought he heard her say, "Joli garçon, terrible français!"

The next ten minutes of his life were terribly dull. He walked and walked, legs burning, with no sight of Luna or her father anywhere. It was only when a dark green light burst from nearby did he get truly afraid.

Draco startled back, reaching blindly for a tree to hold him up. The Dark Mark stared down at him, making the stars look green and cruel. The trees rustled as more people noticed the smokey skull come into existence. He squeezed his eyes shut, and bit down hard enough on his lip for blood to seep out. A terrible thought came to him as the darkness behind his eyelids hid the scenery around him; one that chilled him to his very bone— Lucius, Draco's own father, was probably out there, not helping to round up the rogue Death Eater's but aiding them, instead. He'd be fighting under the same moon, under the same stars that Draco was hiding under, without any care for the Muggles they were torturing.

Sirius Black's words from months ago echoed inside his head. Malfoy's boy, is it?

Was that all Draco was ever destined to be? Lucius Malfoy's only son... An ex-Death-Eater's child...

Red sparks flew through the air in the distance. Draco narrowed his eyes. Perhaps they had caught whoever conjured the Mark, although he doubted the culprit had stayed to watch. He crept forward until he was close enough as he dared, and crouched behind a bush to listen.

A group of Ministry workers surrounded Harry, Granger, and Weasley, their wands tilted down at the three.

Someone came sprinting past Draco, in such a rush they didn't notice him sat at their feet. "Stop!" they yelled. "Stop! That's my son!"

It was Mr Weasley. An expression of terror was etched onto his red face. "Ron, Harry," he said, voice shaky, "Hermione. Are you all right?"

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but a man appeared from somewhere and beat him to it. "Out of the way, Arthur," he said, and Draco recognised it to be Mr Crouch. They'd met hours earlier, before the game. "Which of you did it? Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

Mr Crouch must've been hiding his stupidity behind that fancy Muggle suit, because no half-way-intelligent wizard could believe that Harry Potter had conjured the Dark Mark. In fact, Draco doubted Harry even knew what it was, what it meant.

The three of them began to yell out denials. Weasley's voice carried the clearest as he asked, "What'd you attack us for?"

Draco slowly backed away. He had a feeling if any of them caught him eavesdropping, he'd be getting the blame next. It would even add up in their eyes— "The boy's father must've taught him the spell!" he imagined Crouch's cold voice saying. "Oh, yes, the evidence is all there!"

He grimaced, fleeing, and prayed that Luna was searching for him as desperately as Draco was her.

*

The next few days passed in a numb, forgetful sort of way. Draco kept himself busy up in his bedroom, reading books and doing any last-minute homework. Only the house-elves bothered to make sure he was still eating, as neither of his parents ever knocked on his door to make sure he was okay— Lucius was rarely home at all, lately. So, when September first finally came around, he was glad to have been done with summer. The castle's twisting corridors and moving staircases had never seemed so alluring in Draco's mind.

At the station, his mother murmured a short farewell before Disapparating. Draco sighed, and half-carried/half-dragged his suitcase up onto the train. It was heavier than usual, with the dress-robes he'd had to bring, and some extra books for History of Magic, which he'd taken a newfound liking to during the holidays. Professor Binns would likely have him lose interest all over again with his droning lectures, but for now, it was interesting enough.

Draco found Luna in a compartment at the end of the train, looking entirely well, if a bit peckish. She had sent him a short note promising she'd not been hurt during the Death-Eater attacks, but Draco couldn't help but worry. Sometimes Luna was so unaware of certain evils in the world, like how it was her classmates stealing her belongings and not some new creature her father had told her about. Hopefully, this year would be better. Draco's own third-year was far superior to his first two, after all.

They chatted about nothing important for a few hours, and soon enough the train was pulling into Hogsmeade station, where a gaggle of eleven-year-olds immediately came pouring out and into the boats that would sail them across to the castle. A gush of frosty wind had Draco huddling closer to Luna for warmth. He noticed Harry, Granger, and Weasley doing the same a short distance away.

"I'm really looking forward to Care of Magical Creatures, you know," said Luna in that enchanting way of hers. "I've heard wonderful things about Professor Hagrid."

Draco only ever heard complaints about Hagrid's classes, though he didn't dare say so. "Come on, or we'll get left behind."

Hurrying after the horseless carriages which had been preparing to leave, Terry Boot gave him a hand up into one. Draco pulled Luna in right after, who was still going on about Hagrid. "I'm most interested in unicorns, of course. From what I've read they are just the most beautiful creatures."

"I reckon I'm the most beautiful creature," Draco mumbled, just loud enough for Boot to hear it, as he let out a low chuckle. "Luna, what other electives have you chosen?"

"Ancient Runes, and Divination," she said. "I wanted to do Muggle Studies but it wouldn't fit in my timetable."

"That's a shame. It's one of my favourites."

Finally, they reached the castle entrance. He trailed after a group of gossiping sixth-years and was soon seated at the Ravenclaw table, stomach rumbling. Draco had only eaten a few Chocolate Frogs on the train, and as such was extremely hungry. Yet the feast wouldn't start till after the Sorting, which was always very boring. It was so repetitive— except for the Hat's song. This year, it sang a very long one, which made out Ravenclaw to be one of the better houses, Draco noticed (and agreed with). The cleverest would always be the best.

"Why is that boy so wet?" Luna asked no one in particular, staring over at the Gryffindor table, where a tiny first-year had just sat down at. He was dripping all over the floor, buzzing with excitement ... or the cold.

With a click of Dumbledore's fingers, food appeared on the four tables. Draco wasted no time in grabbing himself a plate of roast beef and mashed potato. When the main course was cleared, the castle served them ice-cream, various pies, and a couple of chocolate-looking things that he quickly took. Once he'd finished stuffing himself, Boot started blabbering on about the fourth-year curriculum.

"You're such a fucking Ravenclaw," Draco interrupted, half-way through a rant about the morality of using Polyjuice Potion.

"What? No. I'm just saying, I genuinely can't think of an instance in which the potion could be used for good and not some evil plan. Or, how about something sexual? What if you drank some and turned into your crush or whatever, and just wanked yourself off? It's an invasion of privacy, is what it is! A form of, of possession!"

Draco blinked. "Terry, you might actually have a point, there."

He grinned.

Dumbledore stood up at the front of the hall, smiling around at them all. "So!" he said, "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices—"

Draco, of course, already knew what these notices would be about. Still, he placed his chin in his hand and listened.

"—I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—"

The doors to the Great Hall banged open, just as a rumble of thunder rippled through the room. Draco swivelled around in his seat and saw a man stood in the doorway. He was leaning on a long staff, and was more shadow than person, what with the black travelling cloak pulled over his shoulders. Draco watched him begin to walk up towards the teachers' table, a clunk ringing through the hall with each of his steps.

A flash of lightning revealed the man's face. He had one real eye, and another, fake one that rolled around in his head, as if trying to get a glimpse of everything at once. A large chunk of his nose was missing.

Dumbledore murmured something to the newcomer, which made him nod his head. They shook hands, and then the man was moving over to the empty seat which the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher usually sat in.

"Meet our newest staff member, Professor Moody," Dumbledore said into the silence. "He will be teaching DADA."

"Must be an Auror," Michael Corner whispered.

"It's Mad-Eye Moody!" Padma Patil replied.

"As I was saying," Dumbledore continued, nonplussed. "Hogwarts has been given the honour to host a very important event over the coming months. It is my great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts over the coming months."

*

_Sept 2nd 1994_

_I haven't got a good feeling about this year._

_I spoke to Harry this morning, and he admitted to not having any clue about the Tournament before last night. I've known about it for weeks._

_Moody freaks me out, too. I've got him for a double tomorrow, with the Hufflepuffs._

_No dreams. None that are so alarming and deserve to be written down, anyway_

*

Draco's first lesson with Moody was not one he was keen to repeat.

For starters, Terry insisted on arriving early so they didn't risk missing anything. The other Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had a similar idea, and soon the corridor was filled with excited murmurs of what Professor Moody would have them be doing. Draco just hoped it wasn't anything practical, like the boggart that Lupin had shown them. He wasn't prepared to experience anything too traumatising this early into term.

Inside, Draco seated himself at the back of the room with Terry. They quickly unpacked their textbook for the year, only to get informed that they wouldn't be needing it. He groaned and placed his white head of hair onto the table. "Kill me, now."

Professor Moody had a real rough, confident voice as if he was always nursing a sore throat. Although, it could've just been a side-effect of constantly yelling, 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE' at them.

"Anyone in here knows which curses are the most heavily punished by wizarding law?" Moody asked, after rambling on about curses for a good ten minutes.

A dozen hands were shoved into the air, including Draco's own. He may have been freaked out by the man, but he wasn't about to miss out on potential house points ... Moody's magic eye darted around the room, before landing on Anthony Goldstein's outstretched palm. "You, boy?"

Goldstein hesitated, and then said, "The Cruciatus Curse? I read about it in a book."

Of course, you did, Draco thought. He'd learnt about it in a book, as well, though likely a much darker one than Goldstein had, as it had come from the Malfoy Manor's library.

"Right on," Moody was saying. He scribbled the answer onto an old blackboard, and said, "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse."

He turned and revealed three jars sat on his desk. Each one had a spider inside. Moody waved his wand, and the one in the middle grew larger and larger, till it was about the size of a small dog. "Pay attention. This curse was very popular at one point in the War..."

With that horrifying sentence, Moody pointed his wand at the enlarged spider and muttered, "Crucio!"

Immediately, the spider began to writhe in pain. Its hairy legs bent inwards and rolled over onto his back. Draco was sure if it had a voice, a loud screaming would've been echoing throughout the entire room. He hated it. "Stop!"

Moody raised his wand, and the spider stopped rocking in pain. It relaxed, barely, still twitching slightly. He put it back in the jar, after putting it back to its proper size. "You would be Lucius Malfoy's son, eh?"

Draco licked his lip and nodded.

"Give me a curse, Malfoy. You would know them?"

Again, he nodded, though now he spoke. "The Imperius Curse."

"Tell me what it is."

Draco stared down at his expensive shoes. "It takes away the victim's free-will, and gives total control to the castor."

"Knew you'd be familiar," Moody said. He grabbed another spider, held it tightly in his callous hands, and pointed his wand at it. "Imperio!"

The spider leapt from Moody's hand, and onto his desk. It moved in a dozen circles, surely making it dizzy, before doing a backflip. The class burst into laughter, though Draco couldn't even muster a weak smile. His father had claimed to be under that curse during the War, and for Moody to practically tell all his peers ... It was mean and unfair. Lucius had donated a lot of money to the Ministry to try and keep his trial hushed up, and it had almost worked until Rita Skeeter wrote an article about it. There was now a fair share of wizards who didn't believe the Imperius story— Draco didn't even, and he was the man's son.

"The final curse," Moody whispered, "is the most deadly. Only one person has survived it, and he goes to this very school.

"The Killing Curse is not something you can avoid with a Shield Charm. If you ever encounter it, you dodge. No spell blocks it."

He pointed his wand at the last spider, and said with a tone of finality, "Avada Kedavra!"

A bright green light shot into the jar, and a rushing sound whizzed through the air. The spider stopped moving at once; dead. Draco couldn't look away. That light, it had been familiar. It had occupied so many of his dreams, and now he knew why.

"It's a powerful curse, that. You could all try to point your wands at me and say the words, but the worse thing I'd get would be a nose-bleed. Of course, none of that matters. I'm not here to show you how to do it, but to have you appreciate what the worse truly is."

*

After his little epiphany on what it was that was so often used in his dreams, Draco hung around Harry a lot more. He was the only one who could know, after all, as nobody else had realised Draco was a Seer. Except, perhaps, Professor Trelawney, who was acting battier every lesson. She had them doing horoscopes this year because apparently space was fucking omnipotent.

In one of these particular lessons, Harry leaned over and murmured in his ear, "You should be the teacher, instead."

This compliment put a dark blush onto his cheeks, which Draco quickly blamed on the stifling heat. It wasn't like what Harry had said carried any real merit, as Draco couldn't really control what he saw, and most of the time the visions seemed to be set years in the future—in other words: useless— but. Still. He was a sucker for flattery. "Oh, please. I'd be as useless as her."

Harry shrugged, a grin playing on his kissable lips. The fire that Trelawney refused to put out had forced Harry's own face to become flushed, which Draco privately thought was a good look for him.

"What are you two gossiping about?" said Weasley, whose parchment was bare of any predictions.

Draco had a lot of practice at lying and was about to put it to good use, but Harry beat him to it. "Sirius. I'm wondering when he's going to write back."

"Maybe he's mad at you, for saying you imagined your scar hurting," Draco suggested. He'd been informed about Harry's dream a few days ago and was frankly horrified at what it might mean.

Later that evening, Draco arrived at the Entrance Hall to find a large crowd milling around a large sign hung up at the staircase. He pushed through the students, and read-out-loud what had been posted. " _The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o'clock on Friday, 30th of October. Lessons will end half an hour early_... Well, that's rubbish. History of Magic will be cut short... _Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast_."

Luna happily trotted into the Great Hall. She was much more pleased with the announcement, as she had a lesson with Moody that afternoon, and was also under the impression he seemed a bit dodgy. Draco was very glad to have picked her as a best friend.

"It's very exciting, isn't it?" Terry said as they sat down at the Ravenclaw table. He seemed adamant to be better friends with Draco this year. "I wonder what they'll be like. I've heard the Durmstrang students are taught about actual Dark Arts, rather than just the defence for it."

"My father wanted me to go there." He scooped some vegetables onto his plate. "Though it was more likely I'd end up at Beauxbatons if Hogwarts wasn't an option. I mean, I don't even speak Russian!"

"What, and you do know French?"

Draco glared at Terry. "You doubt my talents? Well, watch and have your world be transformed, Terence. Tu es le pire sorcier que je connaisse!"

Just then, Cho Chang appeared a couple of seats down. She smiled over at them, pretty in every way that Draco wasn't, and said, "Was that French? You know, I know a little bit as well. My mother has me attend classes in the summer."

He resisted the urge to hex her. Cho was a perfectly nice girl, if a bit boy-crazy. Unfortunately, Harry fancied her, which obviously was enough to erase all those positive qualities and leave Draco with a burning jealous whenever they spoke. "Is that so? Well— well, go on, then!"

Cho looked a little shocked at being challenged, but her gentle smile didn't falter. "I suppose I could. Um, it's probably not as good as yours, but... Pouvez-vous me donner la... Um. Gravy? Sorry, I don't know gravy in French."

Oh, Merlin. Another reason for Harry to fall hopelessly in love with her— everything about the girl was cute! Draco was sure if his own preferences didn't lean solely towards boys, he would find her just as breathtaking as the rest of the male-population at Hogwarts.

"Malfoy?"

"Oh, right. Oui, oui!" He grabbed the gravy for her and handed it over.

"Merci," Cho said and turned around to face her friends, again.

*

As promised, the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang parties arrived the afternoon before Hallowe'en, in their fancy, horse-drawn carriage and gigantic ship. Draco had watched with Terry Boot beside him, curiosity fluttering in his stomach.

The Welcoming Feast was a busy affair. The Beauxbatons students— six girls, six boys— quickly took residence at the Ravenclaw table, much to Draco's annoyance. Word about his ability to speak French had gotten around the school, and as such everyone expected him to translate for the students who hadn't bothered with learning too much English. This was a tedious task, as the girls spoke in such high-pitched tones, and the boys all got distracted so easily, he had to listen very hard to understand half of what they were saying. Terry eventually put a stop to it, by waxing poetry about Viktor Krum.

He wasn't handsome, exactly. Krum, that is. He was surprisingly lean under the thick coats the Durmstrang students were wearing, and was always sporting quite a dark look on his face when Draco glanced over. Really, Draco didn't understand all the fuss. Sure, the guy was an alright flier, but so were plenty of other people. The commotion about a famous Quidditch player being at the school reminded him of first-year when people were still starstruck at seeing Harry Potter roaming the halls.

They served a more variety of dishes than usual, for the feast. Draco tried a little of everything because his palette always got so dull when he went to school. Luna was a large fan of a French pudding that popped into existence on their area of the table.

After everyone was finished eating, Dumbledore stood up and spoke for what seemed like hours. Draco ended up zoning out for a large chunk of it, except the end when he announced what would be choosing the champions for the Tournament.

"The Goblet of Fire?" Draco said, "I've never heard of that."

"You 'Ogwarts type are so uneducated!" a girl who had introduced herself as Fleur Delacour said. She had silvery blonde hair and was attracting a lot of attention. "At Beauxbatons, we are taught all about ze Goblet of Fire! Pah! And your French, eet is worse than my Eenglish!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "It can't be. My mother's French." Kind of. She hadn't been raised there, or anything.

"Oh? What eez her name?"

"Narcissa Black," he said, and waited for some kind of recognition. It didn't come. "Seriously? You don't know the Ancient House of Black? They're only, like, the most famous pureblood family ever!"

Fleur blinked at him, and then said to her friend, "What eez wrong with the little boy?"

Terry patted Draco's shoulder, "You're sounding a bit like a blood supremacist there. I'd reign it in if I were you."

As they approached the doors to leave, they were held up by some kind of commotion at the front of the line. Draco got on his tip-toes and found Harry being stared at by the Durmstrang headmaster, Karkaroff. "Some of us are trying to get to bed, back here!" he shouted.

The result was instantaneous. Karkaroff snapped out of his weird, Potter-induced daze, and quickly lead his students out of the hall. The Gryffindor's left next, with Draco and the Ravenclaw's just behind. They all hurried up to the Ravenclaw tower, eager to talk late into the night about possible champions for Hogwarts. He privately hoped it would be a Slytherin, just to see the looks on everybody's faces.

*

_Nov 1st 1994_

_I am going to kill Harry Potter._

*

A few days after Harry was picked for the tournament, Draco has his next lesson with Moody.

Or, really, he doesn't, because the man wanted to use the Imperius Curse on the students, and Draco felt no reason to take part in such a cruel activity— even if it was a waste of an hour. He could try catching up on some homework, take a nap ... So, after feeling Moody's fake-eye follow him out of the classroom, he headed to the library, only a pinch of regret fluttering around his mind.

Taking his usual seat in the darkest corner, Draco pulled out his copy of A History of Magic and began to flick through it. The Goblin Rebellions, combined with Professor Binn's terrible teaching was almost enough to put him off of the subject, but being able to read ahead made it much more interesting. He knew in sixth-year, they would learn about wand-lore, which surely would turn out to be better than what they were doing now. Truthfully, anything would be better than what they were doing, now.

_By the time 1752 had come around, the goblins had allied themselves with the werewolves and were able to remove multiple Minister's of Magic from office_...

His eyes were slipping closed. His grip on the book weakened, and it fell to the carpet floor. Draco's head leaned forward, and there he slept; there he dreamed.

He was in a graveyard, of some kind. Headstones erupted from the ground every couple metres, but the stone of each one was so old the names were practically impossible to read. Draco brushed a hand against one, and though it felt mossy and wet on his skin, his fingers went right through it. He turned around, small puffs of air falling from his lips, and found Cedric Diggory peering right at him.

Draco gasped, only to realise Diggory wasn't actually looking at him, but something behind him. Again, he turned around, but could see nothing except dark fog and twinkling lights. Then, very suddenly, a harsh, green light snapped through the air and hit Diggory in the chest.

He was dead.

Draco woke a moment later, face suspiciously wet, and body shaking underneath the table.

"Fuck, fuck, fucking-fuckity-fuck."

_This cannot be happening_ , he thought. _But it is_ , a voice whispered back.

"Are you alright?"

He flinched and ended up banging his foot against the table's leg. A blast of pain shot up his calf, and Draco barely was able to muffle his own shout. "What the hell did you have to sneak up on me for, mate? You fucking scared me!"

The stranger who had spoken let out a wince of his own, "Sorry. I wasn't thinking. You just looked so..."

"Sad?" Draco supplied. He got comments like these all the time, especially after the whole Boggart incident last year. "Well, unfortunately, that's just my face."

"Ah. Is your face always wet with tears, too?"

Draco blinked, and finally took a proper look at who he was talking with. It was Blaise Zabini. He had his usual look of his distaste in his brown eyes, like everything was beneath him, though it seemed less pronounced. His cheekbones were sharp and overall handsome. "Um."

"Um?" Zabini repeated, smirking now. "I thought the Malfoy heir would be more articulate."

"Shove off." He stood up, but it did little to erase the height difference. Draco had grown quite a bit over the summer, so he was finally taller than Harry (not as much as Weasley, though) yet Zabini was unfairly long. Like a noodle, or something. "And who do you think you are? Waltzing into my space and asking inappropriate thinks like, like—"

"Like if you were alright?" Zabini said. "Yes, I can see how I overstepped, now." There was a hint of amusement and sarcasm in his tone. "My sincerest apologies."

Draco rolled his eyes, and crouched down to pick up the book he'd dropped. Zabini doesn't move, though he does continue to watch. "How come you're not in class?"

He ignored him. Zabini was terribly rude and had done all sorts of cruel things over the years. Draco doubted he'd ever forgive the guy for trying to have Buckbeak executed the previous year. "So. You actually like history, then?"

The bell rung out across the library, signalling the end of class and giving Draco an excuse not to prolong the encounter any longer than necessary. "See you around, Zabini."

*

November 24th came and went, and with it so did the first task. Draco watched from the Ravenclaw stands, screamed in all the right places, applauded when each contestant finished, and boo-ed when Krum managed to make the dragon smash some of its eggs. Finally, Harry came out and Summoned his broomstick, which he used to get the egg in the quickest time. Draco let out a whoop as he watched, and ran for Madam Pomfrey's tent after, where he knew Harry would've been sent for that painful-looking scratch on his shoulder.

Granger and Weasley had beat him there but wasted no time in including Draco in their conversation. Once Granger hurried off in a fit of hysterics, Weasley retold Diggory, Fleur, and Krum's efforts in getting their egg. He made it all sound very dramatic, when really it had just been terrifying. "Come on, let's go see your score."

The three snuck out of the tent just in time to see the judges putting up their marks. Madame Maxime gave Harry an eight, Crouch and Dumbledore a nine, Karkaroff a four, and Ludo Bagman put up a ten. "Brilliant!"

"I don't get it," Harry said, in disbelief. "I got hurt. Why a ten?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Why're you complaining? You're tied for first!"

The next few days were ones that Draco lived through with great pride. Harry seemed much happier with Weasley back on his side, and the first task over with. This lasted up until the Yule Ball was announced, and suddenly both Harry and Weasley were worrying about who to bring. Draco had immediately asked Luna, who agreed, under the condition that they only danced to two songs. Apparently, she wasn't a fan of dancing. Draco agreed, because it was better than going on his own.

Harry spent a long time working up the nerve to ask Cho, only to be rejected. Draco wasn't all that surprised about her already going with Diggory, as they'd been flirting with each other for months.

When the night did come around, Draco put on his black dress-robes and escorted Luna to the Great Hall. She'd tied her hair into two little balls on her head, which were apparently called space-buns, and was wearing a shiny, purple dress that Draco thought was unnaturally reflective. Luna took this as a compliment and put a careful hand on his arm. They laughed their whole way there, and suddenly he was actually looking forward to the following hours.

Weasley and Harry showed up with the Patil sisters. Both couples looked supremely uncomfortable, which set both Draco and Luna into another fit of giggles.

Harry was dragged away to sit with the other champions to eat. Draco noticed Granger's absence, then, and glanced around for a glimpse of her bushy hair, but he couldn't see it anywhere. They found a table for themselves, and ate in awkward silence, as Weasley refused to make conversation with Padma, and Luna kept humming Muggle songs that she called 'elevator music'.

After dinner, the opening song started. Predictably, Harry made a fool of himself on the dance floor, and Draco took pity and dragged Luna out only a few seconds in. Other pairs followed suit.Harry only managed one song before slipping away, just as he spun Luna around a couple of times. Draco pulled her back in and smiled down at her dizzy expression. "You good?"

"That was so fun," she whispered back, and insisted he did it again. They spun each other around five times more, only stopping when the music faded into something made for clubbing. "Come on. Let's get drinks!"

As they grabbed and swallowed down a few cups of punch, Draco admired the pretty decorations around the room. It was like a snow kingdom, with the towering trees and ice-covered walls. Hogwarts had gone all out.

"Harry is coming over," Luna said. A couple of dirty blonde strands had fallen from her hairdo, framing her youthful face very prettily.

"Excuse me?"

"You can dance," a voice— Harry's— said by his ear. Draco jumped and sloshed half his drink onto the front of Luna's dress. She simply shrugged and floated away. "Why didn't you say you could dance?"

Draco smiled, a bit giddy. They were standing very close. "Every respectable pureblood knows how to waltz, Potter."

"So I'm back to Potter, then?"

He was starting to think that the punch might've had a bit of alcohol in it, as Draco felt a little too light in his shoes. "I have to tell you something."

Harry arched a curious eyebrow. "What is it?"

Draco reached out a hand and brushed a few strands of hair from Harry's sweaty forehead. "I don't..." he trailed off, unsure of how to explain it. "Why can't you just know? Like Luna? It'd be much easier that way."

"I think you should go up to bed," Harry replied. He placed his palm on Draco's cheek. "You're burning up."

"Boys, boys," Draco murmured. "That's what I like."

The hand on his cheek lifted. Draco briefly missed the contact, and then noticed a strange glint had come into Harry's green eyes. "You like boys?"

He slumped onto Harry's chest and yawned into the warmth he found there. "I'm just gonna sleep right here. Yes, right here."

*

_Dec 27th 1994_

_I have never been so ashamed in my life, and am already thinking of the most efficient ways to kill oneself._

_Luna says I'm being overdramatic. Clearly, she has never experienced such embarrassment._

_Oh, I have a good idea of what my mother would say if she found out I'd gotten drunk and fallen asleep on the great Harry Potter. Father always claims the Malfoy's know how to hold their drink, but the Yule Ball has proved him wrong._

_Perhaps the worst part is that Potter hasn't said anything. He dragged me up to Ravenclaw tower, waited around for another student to come and answer the riddle for him, and only left once I had been properly tucked in— like I'm a baby! Merlin, save me... We see each other in the halls, but do nothing but exchange awkward smiles._

_My gravestone should say 'EMBARRASSING IDIOT; PROBABLY CURSED' as it's the only thing even slightly resembling the truth._

*

Before the year started, Snape had given him a note that would allow Draco to visit Madam Pomfrey in the night without getting in trouble for sneaking around past midnight— mostly due to his mother's insistence. Draco hadn't wanted to use it, but on one particularly restless night in January, he crept out of his dormitory and headed for the Hospital Wing, note held tightly in his hand.

Draco almost got away with it. He hadn't run into any prefects or teachers on the way and was just approaching the first set of stairs leading to Ravenclaw tower, when he saw Professor Moody.

The man had his usual cloak pulled over a blue nightshirt, and immediately noticed Draco lurking behind him in the corridor. For a terrifying moment, all they did was stare at each other, until Moody said, "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I, um..." Draco looked over Moody's shoulder. "I get nightmares sometimes, and Madam Pomfrey gives me Dreamless Sleeps when I really need it."

Moody clunked forward on his wooden leg, fake eye staring right through Draco's terrified face. "What are you afraid of, Malfoy?"

"I don't understand, sir?"

They stood like that for another second; Moody looming over Draco, who was embarrassingly close to falling asleep whilst standing. "It wouldn't do well for a student such as yourself to be found wandering around after curfew, nightmares or otherwise."

"I've got a hall pass, specially, from Professor Snape."

"Malfoy, do you know that your precious potions professor was a Death Eater for the Dark Lord?"

A small frown-line came between Draco's brows as he tried to understand what Moody was getting at. "He defected, sir, before You-Know-Who was defeated. Dumbledore trusts him with his life."

"Defeated, huh?" Moody whispered, looking almost mad, before straightening up, again. "What are these nightmares about, Malfoy?"

Draco swallowed nervously, resisting the urge to flee. Moody always made him feel queasy. "I mean no disrespect, Professor, but I really don't think that's any of your business."

Moody looked as though he disagreed, but didn't push it.

A loud screech echoed from somewhere further down the corridor. They both whirled around, and as soon as Moody rushed off, Draco followed; consequences be damned. That sound had been awfully similar to the one that came out of Harry's golden egg.

Filch and Snape stood at the bottom of a staircase, arguing in angry hisses, with that very golden egg sat at their feet. Draco gaped at it.

He had a strange feeling of being watched and looked up the staircase. Harry's egg was here... but no sign of him, anywhere... Or, perhaps, Harry simply didn't want to be seen. _The Invisibility Cloak_.

"Are we having a pyjama party, boys?"

"Professor Snape and I heard noises, Professor," Filch explained. He noticed Draco. "A student out of bed!"

"Shut up," Snape muttered, a sneer hidden under the thick front of his black hair. He narrowed his eyes at Draco. "What are you doing out of bed? And with - with him?"

Draco pulled out his potion as an explanation. Snape responded with the tiniest nod.

Another tiny noise came from the step that Draco knew would often Vanish. None of the others noticed it, as Snape had started on about how somebody had broken into his office. Moody was arguing back.

He glanced back over at that step and was quite sure Harry was stuck there. "Get to bed, Snape," Moody said, bringing Draco's attention back to the three men. "And you've dropped something, by the way."

_Oh, no_ , Draco thought. He watched Snape reach out for the Marauders Map, a dawning realisation on his face, when suddenly Moody spoke again. "Accio parchment!" The map flew from the floor, and into his calloused hands. "Ah, yes. My mistake. I must have dropped it..."

It was too late. Snape was smart, and was already putting it together as Draco had. He kept darting his head from the golden egg that Filch had picked up, to the map that Moody was now holding. It was a little like watching something from a movie. "Potter."

"Severus, don't be rash," Draco said, which was almost definitely the wrong thing to say. Snape hadn't so much at glanced at him during class, and probably would've preferred to kiss Sirius Black than get some sort of order from Draco.

"Don't protect him!" Snape snarled, and glared right up at the staircase where Harry was probably standing. "That is Potter's egg, and that piece of parchment belongs to him, too! I saw it last year! Potter is here, in his Invisibility Cloak! And, you!" he whirled around to point at Draco. "Were you planning to meet with him? Try to help him figure out the clue, despite it being against the tournament rules?"

Draco wanted to curse him. "You're mad! What would Potter be doing out of bed? You know I was getting my potion, or do you think I was lying about that?"

Snape breathed heavily at him, and started walking up the stairs, arms put out in front of him. Draco cursed, and waited, and waited for the inevitable...

"There's nothing there!" Moody bellowed. He'd almost forgotten the man had been there. "But I'll be happy to tell the headmaster that your mind was so quick to jump to Harry Potter!"

"What are you implying?"

"Just that Dumbledore would be mighty interested in who has it out for that boy. And I am, too... Very interested..."

Snape's hands dropped back to his sides. Draco let out a relieved breath and watched his godfather step back down to their level. "I merely thought that Potter should be heading back to bed. For - for his own safety."

The last thing Snape cared about was Harry's safety, but Draco wasn't about to argue against it.

"I'll just be heading to bed, now." Snape gave each one of them another glare, and sauntered off down the hall, black dressing gown billowing behind him.

"You best be off too, Malfoy," Moody said. Draco nodded, and as he left, he heard Harry's voice come from exactly where he'd expected it to. What an idiot.

*

_Feb 20th 1995_

_I had the Cedric Diggory dream, again. I rarely get repeats of Visions, which worries me. Dumbledore's advice keeps coming back to me, though. I mustn't tell anyone._

_Harry keeps showing up at the library and begging for my help to figure out how to breathe underwater. I agreed, and I'm sure there's something I've read about it, but it leaves my mind every time I get close to remembering it._

_We haven't spoken about the Yule Ball._

*

Draco gnawed at his bottom lip, stomach flipping painfully with each movement in the water. Terry was half-asleep beside him, and Luna’s head had fallen onto his shoulder almost as soon as the second task started. Harry had disappeared into the lake almost thirty minutes ago, and there was no sign of him coming up soon. Fleur let out a dry sob a couple of seats down, just as Draco felt the tang of blood seep onto his tongue, likely from biting too hard on his mouth.

He hadn’t been able to find Granger and Weasley that morning. The two had been absent during breakfast, as well as Cho, whose friends had been worrying all the way to the Great Lake. Draco had been, too... He really hoped Harry wasn’t dead, having drowned or frozen to death as soon as he jumped in.

A series of bubbles reached the gloomy surface. Draco straightened up, hoping, but it was only Cedric Diggory who popped out from the lake. He had Cho held tightly in his arms, a worried look on his pretty face.

“Hold on...”

Luna shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “What is it?”

“If Diggory had to rescue Cho... and Fleur was supposed to get her sister...”

“Is that what you woke me for?” Luna said, rubbing at her silvery eyes. “What’s wrong, Draco?”

“Both Granger and Weasley are missing. Surely Harry isn’t meant to rescue both of them!” He was mostly speaking to himself, now. If that was indeed the task, it made sense that Harry hadn’t come back, yet. Perhaps, if he was supposed to rescue two students, then he’d be awarded extra points. That would be the only way for it to be fair. “Maybe... maybe...”

Once the hour had run out, Viktor Krum appeared on the shore of the lake. His head was Transfigured into a shark, though it returned to normal as the crowd jumped up and cheered for him. In his arms, Granger was held, her hair darker than usual from the water that dripped from it. She gasped, and both of them struggled onto to dry land, where Madam Pomfrey immediately set to work at warming the two up.

So Harry would be saving Weasley, then.

Draco frowned at his lap, where his hands were fiddling with one another. Half the contestants had their romantic partners taken. Fleur had her sister, which made sense, yet Harry had Weasley. They weren’t related, nor were they dating.

Why Weasley?

He swore. It was immature enough to be jealous of Cho, who Harry actually fancied, let alone a stupid Weasley. The two were best friends— brothers, even. It made sense for Weasley to be the thing that Harry would miss the most. In fact, it was almost sweet, in a way. Only... Why not Draco? They were just as close, weren’t they?

“There he is!” Luna said, pointing out at the lake. Harry burst from the water, breathing heavily, with a little blonde girl in one arm and Weasley in the other. The three seemed physically alright, but the girl had a very scared look on her face.

Draco stood up and rushed down the middle of the crowd. Luna followed after a moment of hesitating, and soon the two were talking with the four champions and their rescued persons on the ground.

Draco didn’t have to think before hugging each of them in turn. “I thought you were all dead!”

Luna rested her cheek onto Draco’s shoulder, again. She was still half-asleep from her nap during the task. Harry looked embarrassed. “You shouldn’t’ve worried.”

Weasley was flushed bright red. Draco jerked his chin at him and asked, “What’s wrong with him?”

“That Fleur Delacour girl kissed us,” Harry explained. “Um. On the cheek, I mean. She was very grateful for us helping her sister.”

“Oh. I hear she’s part Veela,” Draco said conversationally. He wrapped an arm around Luna’s waist— she was about to fall. Soft snores flooded into his ears. “You don’t seem too affected.”

Harry went even redder. “Neither do you.”

“Well, no, why would I be? What with... the circumstances, and everything.”

This was the closest they’d gotten to talking about it. Granger had gotten swept away by Krum, and Weasley was still distracted by Fleur. For all intents and purposes, they were alone. “Harry, what I said that night. I wasn’t kidding. Me liking boys is part of my, er, identity, I suppose, and if you don’t approve of it, then I can’t—“

“Of course I approve of it!” Harry yelped. “I mean. It’s fine. I don’t mind at all... Does anyone else know?”

Draco grinned, relieved. “Just Luna. My parents probably won’t care too much, if I told them. As long as it doesn’t eventually get in the way of me providing them with an heir. And surrogates exist, and stuff, so.”

“You’ve thought that far ahead, then?” Harry said, not looking him in the eye.

“I have to, Harry,” Draco murmured. “It’s my future.”

Another round of cheers put a stop to their conversation. All of them turned to see the judges putting up the points for each contestant. Fleur had gotten twenty-five in total, and Krum forty. Diggory’s came next, with an impressive forty-seven. Draco held his breath, crossed his fingers and— “Forty-five points! You’re still tied for first!”

Harry looked the most shocked.

Weasley thumped him on the back, and Granger started crying from joy; Draco privately thought he wasn’t too far behind.

*

Sometime in March, Draco seated himself at the Gryffindor table, with no protection except for his confidence. The seventh-years, sat a couple of seats further along, paid no attention, but the rest of the house did. It became very apparent to him at that moment, that perhaps Hogwarts should put less effort into inter-school cooperation, and more into inter-house cooperation. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

Predictably, Weasley choked on his bacon. Draco pretended this reaction didn’t discourage him, and simply poured a glass of pumpkin juice for himself. Harry, who sat beside him, looked mostly curious, and a bit worried. “Is something wrong?”

A fond feeling spread like vines across Draco’s heart. He smiled into his drink and said, “No, nothing wrong. Just thought it was time for a little change in scenery.”

Granger narrowed her brown eyes at him. “What’re you up to, Malfoy?”

“Nothing, nothing!”

Just as he was saying this, the morning owls arrived. They swooped over the table, dropping packages of all sizes and shapes down onto the students. Draco received his usual chocolate basket from his mother, and a special delivery of the latest Witch Weekly. Weasley goggled at it, and Harry looked on the verge of asking if Draco regularly got magazines for women delivered to him. Granger, however, looked suspicious. “What’s that for?”

Draco put on a mask of the utmost innocence. “Feel free to correct me, Miss Granger, but I think it's for reading. Oh, yes, how interesting!” He turned to a page dedicated to the most recent winner of the Most Charming Smile award. “Gregory Cotton? Never heard of him, though I can see... Ah, what’s this?”

The title read ‘Harry Potter’s Secret Heartache’ and was all about Hermione Granger’s horrid affair with Viktor Krum, just as Draco had predicted it to be. “Well, well, well. I have never read something so tragic! How could you, Granger? Harry adores you!”

She flushed an indignant red, and pulled the magazine from his hands. Granger read through it very quickly, getting angrier with each line. Harry and Weasley read over her shoulder. “What utter rubbish! First, she went after Hagrid, and now me! And— and how did she know about Viktor asking me to...”

“Viktor Krum truly asked you to visit him over summer? Scandalous,” Draco whispered, smiling.

Harry elbowed him, though he seemed to find it amusing, as well.

“It’s true?” Weasley said, outrageous. The tips of his ears were burning red. “What did you say?”

“That’s hardly important! And anyway, I was far too busy making sure you and Harry were okay,” Granger said, going red as well. “Maybe she has an invisibility cloak. She’s banned from school grounds, after all...”

Draco fluttered his eyelashes at Granger. “If that part is true, have you really been using Love Potions?”

The rest of the morning went very enjoyably. So well, in fact, that Draco only shot the Ravenclaw one longing look! Terry had noticed and sent him a cheery wave in response. Once breakfast was over, Draco was forced to separate from the three. He had Muggle Studies, which Granger dropped in third-year, whilst they had Care of Magical Creatures. Briefly, he regretted never choosing it.

After first period, he had Divination. Harry passed him a note saying that they were to meet Sirius on Saturday, at Hogsmeade, and it’d be nice if Draco came. Nice wouldn’t be the word he would use— Sirius didn’t like him— but he agreed, anyway.

When Saturday dawned on them, the sun was weak and not particularly helpful, so Draco pulled a thin cloak over his shoulders and hoped it wouldn’t rain. He’d spent the night before explaining to Luna that he wasn’t abandoning her, just running an errand. She knew he was going to spend the day with Harry though, and didn’t need much convincing.

“It’s not like that,” he said, as they left the castle at noon. The three Gryffindor’s walked at a considerable distance ahead of them, checking over their shoulders every few minutes to make sure Draco was still with them. “I’m serious, Luna.”

She giggled. “Whatever you say, Draco.”

They found Sirius in his animal form not long after. The four trotted after the black dog, who was carrying some newspapers in its mouth. Sirius led them up into a cave hidden in the mountain that shadowed Hogsmeade, and then Transformed into his usual-self. Draco was rather breathless from the long walk, and didn’t immediately notice the hippogriff tied to the back of the cave. He jumped away from it, letting out an emasculating shriek. “Is that—?”

“Buckbeak,” said Granger, and bowed low at the creature. Harry and Weasley did the same and encouraged Draco to, as well. He did so, a little nervously, and internally took back ever wanting to be in Hagrid’s class. Magical animals were all so awful.

“Chicken?” said Sirius, pulling the newspapers from his mouth. All of them tugged open their bags and revealed drumsticks and bread inside. Draco had nicked his own horde at dinner the previous night. “Thanks. I’ve had to rely on rats, mostly. This is a welcome change.”

Harry spoke first, “What’re you doing here, Sirius?”

“Fulfilling my duty as your godfather,” Sirius replied easily. Draco noticed he ate in a very dog-like way. “What did you bring _him_ for?”

It was quiet for a moment. Everyone knew he meant Draco.

Surprisingly, Weasley answered. “He’s our friend.”

Sirius grimaced, “If you say so. Now, Harry, I wanted to be ready in case anything went wrong at Hogwarts. Your last letter... well, let’s just say things are getting stranger. From the papers I’ve been stealing, I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

“You’re talking about Crouch, aren’t you?” Draco said, despite knowing full-well that Sirius wouldn’t want to talk to him. “Everyone’s saying he’s sick, despite having never been so ill to miss work before. Plus, he hasn’t been turning up for the tournament.”

“My brother works for Crouch. He claims Crouch has overworked himself,” Weasley commented.

“Serves him right, for freeing Winky!” said Granger, indignant. “I bet he regrets it now. I bet he misses her, in fact.”

Sirius looked interested, despite the dark looks the rest of them were casting at her. Draco hadn’t even bared the brunt of it, but even he was sick of Granger going on about house-elf rights. “Crouch sacked his elf?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “At the Quidditch World Cup.” He explained the story of what had happened with the Dark Mark, and it being cast by Harry’s own wand. Draco hadn’t been told about _that_ detail, though he didn’t interrupt. It wasn’t the right time, to.

“Harry, did you still have your wand on you when you left the Top Box?”

He thought about it for a moment. Draco was sure he knew where this was going.

“Er, I didn’t check.”

“Are you saying whoever cast the Dark Mark stole Harry’s wand in the Top Box?”

Sirius shrugged. Draco had a bad feeling about this. He had, after all, thought about it himself on that very night. When those Ministry people had been interrogating the three, Draco snuck off so they didn’t catch him and blame him for it. _Son of a Death-Eater.._. _It adds up_...

“Who was sitting behind you?” Sirius asked.

“Loads of people,” said Harry. “Some Bulgarian ministers, Cornelius Fudge, Draco and his family.”

Weasley clicked his fingers. Draco’s stomach clenched uncomfortably. “The Malfoy’s! I bet it was your dad, Draco!”

Tears stung at his eyes. Only minutes before Weasley was defending him, calling them friends. And now— now he was accusing his father of something with no evidence. Draco clenched his jaw, and said, “Thanks a lot. I think I’ll be going now.”

Nobody moved. Draco resisted the urge to throw up a rude hand signal and stormed over to the entrance of the cave. As soon as he was hidden from view, he dashed away the tears on his cheeks and ran for Hogwarts castle. He had no inclination to stay for any longer than needed.

*

_May 27th 1995_

_Weasley apologised, and I accepted it simply to get them off my back. I’ve been helping Harry practice for the third task, but I hate every moment I spend in their company._

_I know what they think. I don’t need that._

_Diggory is still occupying my dreams. In each one, more is revealed. Harry was in it as well last night, though luckily the green light hadn’t been sent his way, too. Cedric’s lifeless face haunts my waking hours. I’ve been thinking about telling Snape, but last time I told him about my dreams he told me to get a better hobby._

*

The evening of the third task came with a sense of foreboding. Draco headed for the grounds quite unwillingly, hands shaking and head hurting as he tried to think about why everything inside him was screaming to turn the other way. He found a seat with Luna at the bottom of the stands, practically already in tears. The moon sat at the bottom of the sky in the distance, waiting for its signal to come up. Draco, briefly, remembered that night so many months ago, when he had found the moon comforting. Now, it was anything but.

He spent the first ten minutes of the task with his hand held tightly in Luna’s. Dumbledore watched the task only a couple metres away, patience written into every wrinkle of his old face. Without thinking, Draco stood and wandered over.

Draco had had a whopping two conversations with the great Albus Dumbledore. Once, in second-year, when he wanted a quick recount of how he’d gotten hold of the diary. Draco had lied, of course, and said he’d found it in a bookstore. The second time was in third-year, when Dumbledore requested for him to keep his dreams a secret. And, as he walked over, those words repeated in his mind. _The mind is a truly curious, and fickle thing. Best to keep the things inside it a mystery, don’t you think?_

Fuck off, Draco thought. Fuck right off.

“Professor?”

The judges all looked at him. Draco stood his ground. His intuition, buried deep under his nerves and regret, let out a ripple of approval. “Sir, I needed to talk to you.”

“Surely eet can wait till after ze task, little boy,” Madam Maxime said, when Dumbledore failed to reply.

“It’s really, really important.” Draco stared at Dumbledore and allowed all his desperation to enter his face. It worked immediately. Maxime shut up, looking concerned herself, and the other men avoided his eye. “Please, Professor.”

A painfully long moment passed. Finally, Dumbledore stood and gestured for them to speak closer to the entrance of the maze. “I assume you would like privacy?”

Draco nodded hurriedly, and they went over. He caught Luna watching a little worriedly, and tried for his best smile. She focussed back on the maze.

“What’s wrong, Mr Malfoy?”

“Cedric Diggory is going to die,” Draco said. As the words floated in between them, he found himself knowing they were truer than ever before. “And the Dark Lord is going to return, with the help of Peter Pettigrew. And Harry is— is... going to fight him. The cup is a port-key.”

Dumbledore glanced at the maze. The creases near his eyes had tightened the longer Draco spoke, and when he looked back down at him, it was quite clear that he believed him. “Very well. I find it impolite to cut our talk short, but it’s important for me to fetch Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape.”

“Of course!”

The man swept away. Draco could’ve laughed if he hadn’t been so terrified of what was about to happen. He ran back to Luna, who grabbed onto his hand again, and it was like that they watched; like that, they waited for the inevitable.

*

_ J _ _une 25th 1995_

_I’m scared._

*

Harry spent the next day inside the Hospital Wing, along with the real Mad-Eye Moody. Mrs Weasley, her eldest son, Ron, Granger and Draco stayed with him the entire time. Even if Pomfrey had wanted them to leave, none of them would’ve budged.

At the Leaving Feast, Dumbledore went through his yearly farewells, only this time he spoke of what had happened— the truth. Not the rumours that had been spreading since Harry appeared that night, clutching the lifeless body of one Cedric Diggory. Draco’s tongue felt heavy through the entire thing, and couldn’t even muster up the energy to applaud when the rest of the school did. He was strangely numb.

The next morning, as he was preparing to leave, Snape caught him and requested for them to speak. Draco agreed, only so he could get away from Terry and Luna’s questions. They walked up and down an empty corridor for a while, until Snape finally found his words and said, “You understand my position in the first war, don’t you?”

Draco stared at the ground. “Sure. You were Dumbledore’s spy.”

“Indeed,” Snape said, and they walked for a couple more minutes of silence. “Dumbledore expects me to return to my position as a spy, and ordered for me to go to the Dark Lord the same night he returned.”

He tensed, unaware of this.

“The Dark Lord did not trust me, Draco,” admitted Snape. He looked as anguished as he’d ever been. “When I returned and informed Dumbledore, he claimed that if the Dark Lord had not yet killed me, he must still value me somewhat. So, Dumbledore proposed I share a piece of information that only a couple people on this Earth know about.”

“What was it?”

Snape hesitated. They stopped in the middle of the hall, and Snape turned him so they were facing each other. “I told him about your status as a Seer.”

Draco could’ve vomited. Instead, he pulled away from Snape, and said, “I’m not a Seer.”

_That’s good_ , a voice whispered. _Deny it. Nobody can know_.

“You don’t need to lie, Draco,” Snape murmured, almost comforting. “The headmaster and I have known about you for a very long time. Since your first-year, in fact. I had no intention of ever confirming it with you, nor telling the Dark Lord about it, so I hope you forgive me for doing so, anyway. It was the only way to gain back his trust. Not even Lucius could’ve shared such important information with him.”

Draco walked away.

On the train, he sat with Luna, Harry, Granger and Weasley. The four spent most of the ride in silence.

Once at the station, his mother was there alone to pick him up. She engulfed him in a warm hug that had them both on the verge of tears and then Apparated them away, leaving Draco no moment to say his goodbyes.

“Things are changing, darling,” she whispered into his hair. “Things are changing for the worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there we have it! hope everyone liked it :) im really looking forward to writing OOTP...


	6. Surprise, He’s Not Straight!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He felt, inexplicably, like crying. It explained a lot, though— why his house has been ignoring him, why students he's never even met before seem afraid of him. They're all under the assumption that Draco's going to become a fucking Death Eater.

_Pack your things. Moving you tonight._

_Tell no one —S_

Draco fiddled with the note between his fingers, letting out a shaky sigh. He sits in the long nook of his bedroom window, knees pulled tightly against his chest, an open book at his feet.

A bird chirped outside, distracting him from thoughts of deadly spells and scarlet-eyes.

The window looked out over the Manor's gardens. As a child, he would often stick his head out as far as he could, simply to get a whiff of the roses and wet soil down below. On this evening in June, Draco has only glanced outside once, instead keeping his eyes on the bedroom door, where Severus Snape would be arriving in a little under an hour if everything goes according to plan. If it didn't... He doesn't want to think about it.

His room was clearly owned by someone who had never struggled for money. The bed was large, with silk pillowcases and soft sheets, pressed up against one of four grey walls. A tall cabinet rested near the door, filled with items that Draco hasn't touched for years. On top of the cabinet, a box of glittering jewellery and books were placed. In particular, a necklace from one Harry Potter— the rose pendant hanging off it had been rubbed at so often by Draco, its metal had gone an ugly dull.

For reasons he cannot articulate to even himself, Draco hasn't moved from his spot by the window in hours. When he realises this, a burst of shame crawls along his legs, so he reaches out a hand, slowly, to the abandoned book near his feet.

His fingers curl around the spine. It's a copy of Omens, Oracles & The Goat by Bathilda Bagshot, which Draco had gotten as a late birthday gift from Sev. He's had no inclination to read about the history of Divination, though, and had only given it the barest of his attention before losing interest.

"Stupid— fucking— book," he muttered and threw it in the direction of his bed. It landed just short, and fell to the floor. He rolled his eyes, not bothering to go and pick it up.

Draco stretches out, cracking his fingers and back. The sun is setting behind the perfectly shaped bushes down below, which casts a pink shadow across the roof of the Manor. It's a pretty sight and enough of an encouragement for him to stand and begin packing his necessary belongings. Starting with his robes, a set of silk pyjamas and a Muggle outfit Luna bought him, he carefully folded each item and put them in an order that ensured the best use of the trunk's space. Next, Draco packed his socks and some shoes, followed by his most recently bought journal, which is placed right at the top with a couple of other books. Once the trunk is clicked shut, he dragged it to the door and reclaimed his spot by the window.

A couple of minutes later, as the watch on his wrist reaches 7:33 P.M., Draco hears footsteps from down the hall and two voices. The first, he recognised, because it belonged to the wizard who lives in the portrait just outside his bedroom. "Lucius isn't here, boy! He won't like it if he finds you've been lurking about!"

Stifling a grin, Draco tiptoed over to the shut door. Septimus was a little shit most of the time, but he could also be quite amusing.

"Did he tell you personally he wouldn't be here?" the second voice replied, with a hint of irritation. Severus continued after a beat, "Because if not, I think I'll be ignoring your advice."

"Ooo, aren't you tough?" said Septimus, and Draco imagined the man waving his little walking stick around. "Don't you dare open that door! There are the darkest artefacts hidden in there..."

Severus opened the door anyway and found Draco standing right behind it.

"Hello," he said, a touch uncomfortably. "You're acquainted with Septimus, then?"

"He's a useless old fool." Severus hurried them further inside, and let the door fall shut. For a moment, they faced each other in silence. Then, "I've told your mother you'll be spending the rest of your summer with that Luna girl. She wasn't happy, of course, but had no reason to forbid it."

" _Am_ I spending the rest of the summer there?" Draco asked, eagerly.

He got an annoyed frown in response.

"I'll take that as a no..."

Severus waved his wand, and his suitcase shrunk to the size of a bee. Draco picked it up from the floor and tucked it inside the pocket of his travelling cloak. It weighed lighter than a quill. "You've packed everything?"

Tapping his chin, he thought. Draco went through a mental checklist, and then remembered— "Hold on! Let me just..." and, wrapping his fist around Potter's necklace, Draco said, "Now I have everything. Where are you taking me?"

They left the room, ignoring Septimus' indignant shouts of kidnapping. When Severus replied, he spoke in a hushed tone, as if he didn't want any other portraits to overhear. "The Dark Lord may want Lucius to hand you over soon, what with... Well." He coughed. "So, Dumbledore arranged for you to be moved to a place where neither of them will think, or be able to look. Some of the Order doubt you'll be at the top of You-Know-Who's list of priorities, though, so don't get too worried."

Walking down the first set of stairs to the ground floor, Draco did his best to keep up with Severus' running dialogue.

"We'll take the Knight Bus. I'm not entirely convinced on its anonymity, but we can't exactly fly to London on broomsticks, and the Floo network is a no-go, as the place we're going doesn't have an open Floo. Hurry up, Draco, we don't have till Christmas!"

He grumbled under his breath and sped-up his pace.

"I'll be dropping in quite often, and expect regular updates on any dreams you have," Severus continued. They reached the Manor's front door and swept through it. "By the way, who have you been sending owls to?"

"Just Luna."

"Good. Communication should be kept strictly verbal, from now on. Letters can be intercepted," he added, at Draco's confused look. "You've used the Knight Bus before?"

Draco shook his head. His parents always said the Knight Bus was for lesser wizards and witches; Muggle-born and blood traitors, in other words. So they would usually just Apparate, or Floo everywhere.

"I envy you, then," said Severus. "The Knight Bus is a filthy form of transportation. Terribly unhygienic, and the conductor is one of the most annoying people I have ever met—Come _on_."

They wandered past the peacocks and metal gates with ease, and were soon standing by the main road in silence. Severus stuck out his wand, and the next time Draco blinked, a purple three-decker bus was parked in front of them.

The doors squeaked open, revealing a wizard who must've only been in his early twenties. He had large ears, and pimples in sizes that Draco had never seen before. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stra..."

Severus shouldered pass the man, interrupting his spew of nonsense. Draco hesitated and then did the same. As they walked down the aisle, he saw sleeping witches and wizards, a pair of goblins, and a younger-looking girl with lightning blue hair, and a heart-shaped face. She caught sight of them, and gestured, quite enthusiastically, to the empty seat beside her. After sharing a glance with Sev, who grimaced, Draco took the offer; his godfather not far behind.

"Wotcher, Severus," the witch said. "Is this—?"

"Obviously," he said, putting particular displeasure on the 'O'.

A little terrifyingly, she set her large grin on Draco. Her eyes wandered over his white-blonde hair, his pointy nose, and the necklace still cupped in his hand. Embarrassed, he shoved it into the same pocket with his trunk. Her attention lingered on it for half a second, until she abruptly thrust her hand out and said, "I'm Tonks."

Draco, belatedly, shook the offered hand.

Tonks' smile widened.

Severus, thank Merlin, took mercy. "Draco, that's your cousin. Her mother's Andromeda Black."

He choked.

The bus gave a sudden lurch, and both Draco and Tonks fell off their seats and onto the sticky floor. He had just gotten up again when the bus turned, and he was right back down. "D'you reckon our clumsiness was inherited?" Tonks yelled over the increasingly loud complaints of the other passengers.

Frankly, Draco didn't know what to 'reckon'. He was so shocked at the discovery of having an actual cousin (not that third, twice-removed shit) who was semi-normal, he doubted he'd ever get another word out.

"I was the same way when I heard you'd been put in Ravenclaw," said Tonks wisely, after they'd both gotten back in their seats. "I thought for sure you'd be a right git like the rest of the family. Well, not the rest-rest of them. Sirius is alright, but he's a bit depressing to be around, so I haven't gotten the chance to have a proper chat with him, yet. The Order has me pretty busy, you know."

"What's the—?"

" _Nymphadora_ ," Severus interrupted. " _Not here_."

Tonks sighed but didn't disagree. "Sorry, got a bit excited. So, Draco, how's life been treating you?"

"Not bad." Draco cleared his throat. "How old are you?"

"Well, it depends. Many would say mentally I have the mind of a child, but I was born in '72. Of course, there's also the fact I can appear as old as I like. Watch this!"

She squeezed her eyes shut, scrunched up her nose, and all-around just looked to be in pain. Slowly, her blue hair faded into a silvery grey, and her face created wrinkles from seemingly thin air. Draco, gaping, said, "You're a Metamorphmagus?"

Tonks nodded her aged-head. "Sure am. Hey, I've an idea."

Again, she shut her eyes. This time, her hair became shorter and changed into the same blonde on Draco's own head. Tonks also made her eyes grey and features sharper. "Hah! Now I'm a Malfoy!"

Draco shivered dramatically. "I don't like that one..."

Tonks laughed.

They played around with her appearance for a little longer, only stopping when the bus pulled to a halt outside a gloomy-looking Muggle street. Severus stood up and headed for the doors, Draco and Tonks just behind him, chatting the entire time. As they got off, he gave the street a proper look, and felt a strange familiarity to the place, though could not precisely place why.

Severus pulled something from his coat pocket and handed it to him. It was a piece of scrap parchment. "Memorise that. Quickly, please."

Draco did so without question, and as he thought about the address written onto the note, a multi-storied house appeared, placed snugly between the homes numbered 'eleven' and 'thirteen'. He immediately worked out what had happened. "A Fidelius Charm! That's brilliant. Hey, wait, I've been here before."

"You must've visited before the last owner died," Severus said as they walked up the front steps. "I'd be surprised if you actually remember the inside, though."

"I remember a lot of screaming happening inside," Draco muttered darkly.

Number twelve Grimmauld Place was a black-painted building, with grimy windows and a neglected garden. There was an overwhelming sense of unhappiness about it, and already Draco was dreading stepping inside. However, as Severus tapped at the doorknob with his wand, he knew he had no choice. It was either this, or going back home where You-Know-Who could find use of him at any moment.

"I'll get us some light," whispered Tonks, and no sooner had she said it did the tip of her wand put the narrow hallway they had entered into a dim light. Draco was sure his breathing sounded heavier than usual. "Now, stay quiet, Draco. Oh - and don't touch anything."

He nodded, moving further in.

"Nymphadora, just put on the damn lamps," Severus hissed.

"I can never get those things working," Tonks said.

As they bickered, Draco took the time to admire the place. Although, perhaps admire wasn't the right word. He was more sneering at every little decoration, as the interior ranged from age-blackened portraits to a chandelier covered in cobwebs. There was also a terrible stench of piss. "It's disgusting in here. Walburga had house-elves, didn't she?"

"Oh, please don't bring up—"

There was a loud pop, and when Draco took his next step, he tumbled over an elf that looked on the verge of tears. Either from sadness or joy, he didn't know.

"Morgana's tits! Give me some warning..."

"Has Mistress' house been saved? Has Kreacher finally found a worthy master? Oh, let it be so, let it be so!"

The ugly creature threw itself at Draco's feet. He flinched away from it and said, "Get off me!"

"Ah, Kreacher recognises the young master! He has visited Mistress' home very long ago as a baby, before blood-traitors and Mudbloods ever stepped foot inside it! Thank you, sir, thank you!" the thing wiped fat droplets from its wrinkly cheeks, only to take notice of who had arrived with him. "Master Draco brings... brings the unnatural and greasy half-bloods with him?"

Tonks pulled Draco away from the elf and murmured in his ear, "Best leave him to it. I've never seen him like this before. C'mon, Sirius'll be in the kitchen."

*

Over the next few days, Draco was tasked with cleaning out a few of the guest-rooms for when the Weasleys arrived. Professor Lupin would sometimes drop in to help— though he suspected there was an ulterior motive there, like visiting one Sirius Black— but for the most part, Draco's first week at Grimmauld Place was incredibly lonely, as Tonks was not kidding when she said the Order of the Phoenix kept her busy.

Many evenings were spent falling asleep early just to escape the suffocating loneliness that followed him everywhere around the house. One night, after waking from a dream he'd rather not think about, Draco ventured outside his room and into the kitchen, where he found Sirius sat at the table with a collection of expensive wine bottles surrounding him. His dark hair had been groomed since his escape from Azkaban, though his eyes were just as lifeless as the day they'd met. Draco hesitated when he caught sight of the man, but his dry throat painfully reminded him why he had come out in the first place.

After retrieving a glass from one of the dusty cabinets, Draco poured some icy water into it, eyes trained on Black's vacant face. Unwisely, he sat in the chair opposite him.

Sirius snapped out of his daze immediately, and a snarl came upon his lips. "What're you doing?"

Draco rolled his eyes and took a dainty sip of his drink. "I'm planning your untimely demise. What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?"

"You've got no right to talk to me like that, Malfoy," said Sirius, "If I had any say in it, I wouldn't even let you stay here. You're just lucky Dumbledore thinks you're important enough to protect."

Honestly, Draco knew it wasn't himself that was important. It was the futures planted inside his head. "How come you're so nice to Tonks and not me?" he asked, as it had been haunting him since the day he'd arrived.

Sirius flicked a fallen piece of silky hair behind his ear. "Cause I knew her mother. She was always my favourite cousin. Yours, however..."

Draco stood up. He was so angry all of a sudden. "Don't talk about my mother like that. And, you know, for someone who hates their family so much, you're awfully like them in the way you're so quick to fucking hate someone based on who they're related to."

Without waiting for a response, he stormed back upstairs and headed for Regulus' bedroom— the one that stupid Sirius had assigned him. It was smaller than his room at the Manor, but still relatively big. It was also covered in green in whatever direction you looked.

According to Tonks, it was Sirius' idea as a practical joke. Draco didn't find it very funny. After all, he was as much a Slytherin as everyone else who visited the house; not one at all.

There was stomping downstairs as Draco collapsed onto the emerald sheeted bed. He thought he could hear some cursing from Sirius before silence engulfed the house, thankfully. He dropped his eyes shut, but sleep didn't come, no matter how many Hippogriffs he counted. Giving up, Draco stood again and directed his attention to his suitcase. He'd never got around to unpacking it, even after Sev had returned it to its natural size, as the reality of the situation had never really hit before that moment. Grimmauld Place was, for now, his home. At least, the safest place he could call home at the moment.

Draco crouched down and rummaged through the mess of clothes and knick-knacks until his fingers finally caught the edge of one of the books he'd brought. It was an old, tattered version of some potions manual which the Manor's library had looked after for years; the pages were browning, and the cover was falling apart. Ignoring this, he opened it up to a random page and started reading.

*

_Aug 6th 1995_

_Harry arrived, tonight. He's apparently developed a temper over the summer because he spent his first five minutes at the house screaming at me, Granger and Weasley. I can't really blame him, though, as we had been forbidden from telling him anything interesting in our letters, and now with the Dementor attack on top of that? It makes sense he'd be so stressed out._

_Despite his anger, his face is a welcome addition to the company I've had to suffer from these past few weeks. Granger and the Weasley family showed up awhile ago now, and not a day passes where one of them isn't annoying me. Excepts perhaps Mrs Weasley; her pies are delicious, and she argues with Black just as often as I do._

_Severus has started showing up more frequently, thank Merlin. Nobody else much looks forwards to his visits, but I treasure them._

*

Not even a day had passed after Harry's arrival before Draco was made to play house-elf, again. Mrs Weasley was determined to have the house as clean as it could be, which meant waking early each morning to get it all done quicker. It was dull work, and only Granger's reproachful looks were enough to stop him from summoning Kreacher to do his bit, as the elf was determined to only follow his orders— in a way that was actually helpful, that is. Eventually, morning became noon and Mrs Weasley called for a lunch break. Draco noticed Harry and Black whispering between themselves at the Black family portrait, but ignored them in favour of grabbing some sandwiches off the tray that Mrs Weasley was keeping afloat with her wand. He joined Granger and Ron, who he ate with in silence.

In the afternoon, all of them started emptying out the glass-fronted cabinets to the floor and gathered up the items they found inside. Nothing they found seemed particularly keen to move, which became the most obvious when Black suffered a bite from a silver snuff-box, which made his hand look like a tough, brown glove. There was also a box that issued a slow, pleasing melody which Draco realised was making them all sleepy, and promptly shut; a locket that forced a shadow of a ruby-encrusted sword flash in his mind; and a spider-like thing that crawled up Harry's arm in an attempt to puncture his skin, until Black slammed it with a book on Wizarding Genealogy.

Draco had no qualms getting rid of the Dark stuff, but privately thought it was a waste to throw out everything else, as well. Just because Sirius had bad memories of the place didn't mean the heirlooms were any less valuable... So, he didn't fault Kreacher for sneaking around and trying to grab a few things.

"What do you think about these, Ginevra?"

She glanced up from her pile of rattling artefacts and stared at the pearl earrings dangling from his fingertips. "I wouldn't wear them."

"That hardly helps. I doubt you even wore earrings at the Yule Ball last year," said Draco, not unkindly.

Ginny raised an eyebrow at him. "And I doubt you would've noticed either way Malfoy if I'm right in remembering you were drunk for the better half of that night. What d'you want with a pair of earrings for anyway?"

"Luna's birthday," he answered, throwing the pearls in the direction of the garbage pile. "I always give her the worst presents, so I've started planning earlier. Last year, I bought her birthday present with her Christmas ones!"

"Try putting a carrot on a string, then. It'll complete her collection."

Draco scowled at her. "Don't be mean."

In the next few days, they moved from the drawing-room to the dining room, where Sirius seemed to make it his personal mission to get rid of anything bearing the Black crest. Kreacher put up a good fight; appearing wherever they gathered and attempting to remove things from the rubbish stacks, though all his efforts were mostly futile in the end, as Sirius would get so mad he would pick up the elf and chuck him from the room.

With Harry's presence, Draco was sure that they were getting more and more visitors with the more time that passed. Several times a day the doorbell would ring, which then prompted Draco's great aunt Walburga to start screaming her head off from her portrait downstairs. It was torture in the most amusing form.

The relief of having Harry permanently in the house quickly fizzled out by the time his trial came around, though. Draco left Regulus' room early one morning to find Harry sat at the eating table, a plate of toast untouched before him. The sight of him sent a flutter of worry to tiptoe around his stomach. "Hey."

"You should still be sleeping," Harry murmured, not sparing him a glance.

"I can't sometimes," said Draco. Mrs Weasley came over and placed a couple of slices of toast in front of him, too. "Are you okay?"

Harry shot a look at Tonks, Lupin and Sirius, who all sat at the end of the table, talking amongst themselves. Then, "Not really. I keep thinking, you know, what if the next time I come back here I've got no wand, or... or future at Hogwarts?"

Draco swiped a dash of marmalade over his bread and thought about his words. Harry very well could be right; the Ministry had been trying to make him out as crazy all summer, to dispute his claims of the Dark Lord being back, and having him be expelled from Hogwarts would be the cherry on top. Still, he needed to comfort his friend. And more than that, he _wanted_ to. "I like to think I'm a real expert in all things future, and I've not got a bad feeling about your hearing, okay? So stay positive!"

As Mrs Weasley bustled over to try and smooth out his hair, Harry mustered up a weak smile and said, "Thank you. Really."

Draco blushed. He went to bite into his toast but missed his mouth, and crumbs fell to the table. Harry laughed, and things felt okay.

*

The end of the summer came alarmingly fast once Harry was cleared of all charges. Draco spent his last few hours at Grimmauld Place double-checking he had packed everything for the coming months, and making promises to Mrs Weasley that he wouldn't be a stranger. Tonks, Moody, and Lupin escorted them to the station, as well as Sirius, who insisted on coming along in his dog-form.

"It's been great getting to know you, Draco," said Tonks. She was disguised as an old lady today, a hideous purple hat placed over her grey hair. "Just wish it was under better circumstances, yeah?"

"Yeah. Me, too."

Mrs Weasley's efforts to hug each of them became more frantic as the train whistled overhead, urging the students still on the platform to hurry up. She was looking teary-eyed. "Stay out of trouble! If you've forgotten anything, we can owl it over... Ginny, please write to us weekly..."

Draco stared at her, thinking of his own mother's curt farewells every September. "Thank you for looking after me, Mrs Weasley."

She patted the side of his head and hurried him over to the train door. There was something far too knowing in her gaze. "You're a good boy. Don't lose that."

As he backed up and watched the station become a blur of colour through the window, Draco felt winded, but in a pleasant way. He relished in it for a moment, before tuning back into Harry, Granger and Weasley's conversation.

"I really don't think Sirius should've come," Granger was saying, chewing on a long strand of frizzy hair.

"Give him a break," said Ginny. "He hasn't seen daylight for months."

Draco ignored them, looking up and down the train's corridor for Luna. She must've already found a compartment, though. "I suppose I'll be off, then?"

"We should sit together," suggested Harry, quickly.

Granger shared a look with Weasley, who then seemed to become more interested in the floor than them. Awkwardly, Granger said, "Actually— er, Ron and I are supposed to go to the prefect's carriage."

"Oh." Harry paused. "Okay, then."

He could've laughed. Instead, Draco rolled his eyes, and shuffled past them all with his trunk, and murmured, "I'm gonna go find Luna. You coming, Harry? Ginevra?"

"I wish you'd stop calling me that. But, fine. Come on, we might still be able to find seats," said Ginny. Once Harry had sent one last look over his shoulder at Granger and Weasley, the three of them struggled down the corridor; peeking into compartment windows in search of empty seats or, in Draco's case, Luna. Eventually, they ran into Longbottom, who was standing uncomfortably at a carriage door, his pet toad, Trevor, struggling in his grip. "Hello, Neville."

"Hello, Ginny. Harry... Malfoy. I can't find a seat, everywhere's full."

Draco, suspicious, hastened a glance into the compartment behind him. "She's in there! Move out of the way, Longbottom."

Pushing past, Draco squeezed his way inside, vaguely aware of Harry and Ginny doing the same, Longbottom with a tad more hesitation. Luna was sat by the window, her copy of the Quibbler upside down in her pale hands. Grinning, he dropped into the space beside her, saying, "Hello, Luna. Do you mind if these idiots take some of these seats?"

She lowered her magazine, making her wide-grey eyes emerge from the top, and nodded. Harry took the seat opposite them, while Ginny and Neville sat down closer to the door. Luna watched them before saying to Draco, "How was your summer?"

"It was shit. Yours?"

"Quite the opposite," replied Luna, dreamily. She smiled. "It was really lovely, actually. Daddy's been very busy with work, but we planted some gurdyroots in the garden, you know. Hopefully, they'll be entirely grown by Christmas!"

Draco had missed her with his entire being. "Gurdyroots... Are those the things you make tea with?"

"Oh, yes. They can ward off Gulping Plimpies, too."

As she was speaking, there was a sudden rainfall of rancid pus that squirted over them. Draco was just quick enough to escape the worst of it, by covering his head with his arms, but Harry and Longbottom weren't so lucky. They looked like a giant had puked its breakfast all over them. Grimacing, Longbottom said, "I'm sorry. I've never tried that before! Don't worry, it isn't poisonous."

" _It_?"

Longbottom held up a plant in response. It looked to be almost pulsing. "That is absolutely—"

The compartment door slid open with a soft creak, Cho Chang's face appearing behind it. She smiled a little uncomfortably at them all. "Sorry. Is this a bad time? I just wanted to say hi. So, hi."

Draco could only muster up a handful of pity for her, especially after seeing a blush spread along Harry's thin neck. "Hey."

"Right. Well, um. Bye."

She disappeared, again.

"Nevermind her," said Ginny, pulling out her wand. "We can clean this up easy. _Scourgify_!"

The rest of their journey to Hogwarts went uneventfully. Granger and Weasley showed up a little over an hour in, muttering about Blaise Zabini and Pansy being made Slytherin prefects. By the time the train was pulling into Hogsmeade Station, the skies outside the window had been painted in stars just visible through the rain, and everybody was thankful to have arrived. Draco helped Luna up and they dragged their suitcases from the compartment, shuffling off in the direction of the doors.

He heard no familiar call of "Firs'-years over 'ere... firs'-years" from Hagrid as stepped onto the platform. Instead, there was a different voice, a distinctly female one, shouting, "First-years over here, please! All first years with me!"

It was only Harry's confused, puppy-dog like face that reminded Draco this was a bad thing. As they headed in the direction of the horseless stagecoaches to take them to the castle, he wondered where Hagrid was. The darkness of the night and upbeat conversations circling around him distracted him, though, and Draco forgot all about Hagrid when he caught sight of the carriages. They were no longer horseless.

Draco's breath came out sharp as he looked up and down at the creatures standing between each carriage shaft. They looked like the kind of horses that a dark wizard would want to ride, with their black wings and skeletal bodies. Still gaping, he turned back to see if anyone else was shocked at the sight of them, but it was only Harry who seemed to have noticed their presence at all. "What the fuck are those?"

Luna popped up beside him. "You can see them?"

"Am I - am I not suppose to?" he said, hushed.

Luna grabbed his hand and led them both over to the coaches. Draco never took his eyes of the creatures, half-afraid they would attack. "Harry? Harry, what are they?"

He shook his head. "I don't know."

"How can you not know?" hissed Draco, glaring at Harry. "You take Care of Magical Creatures, don't you? Surely they've appeared in... in a textbook or, or... Fuck, I know what they are. But why can I—?"

Their carriage jolted forward as Luna shut the door behind them, cutting him off. Draco swayed in his seat when they began moving down the road and passed the gates to the school grounds, which were drenched in utter darkness. The castle could be just seen up ahead, its countless windows dripping with orange candlelight. He gazed up at the flickering shadows for a while, before darting his attention back to the horses that drove them.

_Thestrals_ , he thought. _Why can I see you_?

The carriage came to a stop, and Harry got out first, with Draco and Luna just behind. He noticed Granger and Weasley stepping out of a second coach a short way in front. All of them clamoured forward in an effort to escape the biting air quickest.

Inside, it was warmer and louder. Torches lined the halls that they all walked through, and once they'd made it to the Great Hall, the students' voices rose even higher in volumes. People called out greetings and spoke eagerly with those surrounding them. Draco waved at the Gryffindors before drifting off to the Ravenclaw table with Luna, who'd already started a running commentary about her newfound passion for sewing. He listened with an alert ear but got distracted by a group of girls giggling behind their hands at him. A well-done scowl shut them up, though it didn't shut off the bad feeling that had stirred in Draco's gut.

Luna and he found an empty spot beside some third-years, who all hastily turned away when they sat down. Frowning, Draco asked, "Do I smell bad or something? Are my robes inside out?"

"You do need a haircut," she said, reaching over to tuck a fallen lock of white-blonde hair back behind his ear. "Are you trying to grow it out like your father's?"

"No! I just never got around to cutting it. I don't think that's it, though. Look around! I feel like everyone is scared of me or something."

"You're probably going mad."

Draco shook his head, grinning. Their conversation was interrupted when the Sorting hat broke into song; it went on and on with warnings, and suggestions that the school would do better united than divided in these times. Draco thought he had a pretty good idea why it had decided to branch out this year, but didn't voice it, for McGonagall started calling out the names of first-years as soon as silence fell over the hall, again.

He only half-listened. Terry was seated a couple of seats down, but had made no movement to try and talk. Draco sighed and attempted to pay attention. Finally, everybody got Sorted, and Dumbledore stood to go through his usual whimsical words - "To our newcomers, welcome! To our old crowd, welcome back! There is a time for speechmaking, but this is not it. Tuck in!"

Food appeared before them on millions of plates that covered the four House tables. Draco wasted no time in following Dumbledore's instructions, leaning forward to grab at some roast chicken and chips.

*

_2nd Sept 1995_

_It's only the second day of term and Harry has already gotten detention. I haven't got Professor Umbridge till tomorrow, but based on the Gryffindors recount I should be dreading it._

_I spoke to Severus about the thestrals after potions this morning. He's got no explanation for why I can see them either, but promised to look into it. It's probably got something to do with my stupid Seer thing, though. Everything does._

*

Draco poked his head into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Umbridge was sat at her desk, wearing a fluffy pink cardigan over her shoulders, a pristine white quill in her hand. She was too focused on the parchment in front of her to have noticed Draco, who had gotten to class early and was now waiting outside. He had sprinted from breakfast to check for any evidence of them doing a practical lesson, as he had already decided he'd be leaving before it even began. First Lupin, and then fake-Moody... He refused to be traumatised again, even if it affected his O.W.L performance.

Somebody poked at his shoulder, and Draco hardly stopped himself from jumping in the air from fright. He turned, ready to scream at someone, only to come face-to-face with Blaise Zabini. His smug, big-headed smirk was as prominent as ever. "Morning, Malfoy."

He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his hip, silent. Zabini raised an eyebrow at the display, gaze travelling downwards for a split second. "What? No snappy comeback? Or quick-witted reply? Your little friend Potter could do much better than that."

"What do you want, Zabini?" asked Draco.

"That's no way to talk to a prefect." Zabini wet his bottom lip. "I just came to warn you about what some of the Slytherin's are saying."

"I don't give two shits what your latest gossip is."

Zabini's jaw clenched noticeably, and his eyes turned sharper. Draco swallowed, regret filling his veins. "That's a point taken from Ravenclaw for swearing, Malfoy. What would your mummy say? And, by the way, if you knew what was good for you, you'd give a lot more than two shits, because my 'gossip' isn't pretty. But if you don't care? Fine. Suit yourself."

As he disappeared down the corridor. Draco slumped back onto the stone wall, a red flush dotting at his cheeks. He let his chin drop forward onto his chest, absently going through Sev's breathing exercises. _One, two... Five, six..._

Harry had said Zabini had laid off them by the end of last year, but if he's back to being the school's bully— and specifically to Draco— then it would only add to the long list of problems that the Dark Lord had started... Draco licked his lips and straightened up, again. There was no point in dwelling in something that hasn't happened, yet. That went for everything else, too. Literally.

Draco stole another glance inside the classroom. Umbridge had started waving her wand and pushing all the chairs in from her spot at her desk, which seemed a bit stupid. Students were about to arrive and mess it all up, again, anyway.

As if summoned, a smattering of Ravenclaw's came into Draco's line of sight. They all stopped short when they saw him, and silence fell over the hall. Terry stood near the back of the group, staring down at the floor. Draco felt a fierce urge to strangle them all, but could not come up with a reasonable excuse as to why. Stamping these feelings down, Draco sent a rueful smile at Goldstein, who only stared back.

Just then, the bell rung, signalling the start of their first lesson for the day. Everybody stumbled into the classroom in relative silence, except for the odd giggling girl or two.

*

_9th Sept 1995_

_Umbridge has been made first-ever High Inquisitor. I don't really know what that means, except that she'll be inspecting classes today._

_I have Divination next period and am planning to ask Professor Trelawney if she knows anything about Seer's being able to see the Thestrals, as Severus still hasn't found anything. I know, for the most part, that she's an old fraud, but I'd still like to try. For some reason, I've started to actually like her._

*

Draco shoved his diary into his school bag, along with his quill and ink. He could see Terry eating a few seats away, but they'd yet to talk this term. The whole thing confused Draco— he'd been getting iced by a lot of the Ravenclaws lately, and he has a feeling it's got something to do with the gossip that Zabini was talking about. Still, he has too much pride to actually ask the blasted git about it.

The end of lunch bell rung, and he stood and could see the heads of Weasley and Potter heading in the direction of Trelawney's classroom. He sped up and matched their pace. "Hello."

"Hi, Malfoy," said Weasley, "Has Umbridge been in an of your classes yet?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. I've got her for Defence tomorrow morning, though."

"Fred and George said she was in Charms earlier," Harry added. "We've got her after Divination..."

They stopped in front of the trapdoor leading to the classroom, and Draco went first to climb up. Trelawney was talking to two Gryffindor girls, and didn't look up when the three entered. Harry led them toward a table near the back, and they sat down in silence.

A moment later, the trapdoor flung open, only it wasn't a student this time. Umbridge revealed her self entirely, rather ungracefully, with a clipboard and quill in her hands. The class fell silent at once. Unaffected, Umbridge said to Trelawney, "I trust you got my note about inspecting your class, today?"

Trelawney nodded, seeming disgruntled. Draco felt something roar inside him, like pity for Trelawney. It disappeared after a second.

Umbridge found herself a seat on a cushioned sofa near Trelawney's desk, and sat down ramrod straight in it, waiting for the class to begin. Trelawney, with a small shake in her movements, clapped her hands together. "Today, we'll be continuing our study of prophetic dreams. Split up into pairs please, and interpret each other's latest nighttime visions with the help of your Oracle books."

Underneath the table, Potter kicked at Draco's foot with his own shoe. "What is it?" he asked.

"Let's work together," explained Potter. Weasley frowned but didn't comment, swivelling around in his seat to work with Dean Thomas, instead. "I'm sure you've got some interesting dreams, then?"

Draco shrugged. "I always do. What type do you want to hear about?"

"Something gruesome."

"Easy-peasy," said Draco, not even having to think about it. The previous night, he'd woken early, images of giants fighting to the death haunting his sleep. "There were these hideous creatures— giants, but don't tell Hagrid I called them that— which were battling each other for no reason I could see."

Harry hummed and scribbled something down on his parchment. Draco went to continue, but Umbridge was talking to Trelawney rather loudly, and it was impossible to not hear them. "You're great-great-grandmother was the celebrated Seer, Cassandra Trelawney, correct?"

"That's right."

Professor Umbridge made a note on her clipboard. "And, correct me if I'm wrong, you are the first in your family to have inherited Cassandra's Second Sight?"

"These things often, er, skip three generations."

Draco perked up. If that was true, he'll have to look into his own great-grandparents blood...

"Of course," said Umbridge, smiling creepily at Trelawney. "Well then, if you could just predict something for me?"

Professor Trelawney hesitated, stiffening, and pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders before murmuring. "I don't understand you."

Somehow, Draco knew exactly how this was conversation was going to go if nobody stepped in. _I'd like you to make a prediction for me... The Inner Eye does not see upon command! ... Umbridge making a hundred more notes that weren’t in Trelawney's favour._

Without thinking, Draco shoved his hand into the air, praying to somebody up above that he wouldn't be ignored. Fortunately, both Trelawney and Umbridge turned at his movement. "Professor Umbridge, don't you think it would be better for you to see if Professor Trelawney's students could predict something for you? I mean, that would prove whether her teaching style is effective or not, yes?"

Umbridge glared at him. Draco resisted the urge to shrivel back. Surprisingly, Trelawney looked grateful. "A student, you say? And I suppose you'd like that to be you? Fine. Go on, then. Predict something for me."

Draco could feel everybody staring at him. He seemed to have lost his voice.

"That's what I thought," said Umbridge, tutting slightly. "If neither you or Professor Trelawney can predict something for me, I'm afraid I'll have to..."

"Wait," Draco interrupted. He let his instinct take over, and it wasn't him that was using his mouth to speak, anymore. "Professor Umbridge, I can See some of your greatest desires come about very soon... But not for long, and certainly not without a cost... You should ... You should watch out for, erm, centaurs? Yes, centaurs. They are not fond of High Inquisitors, and are not against violence to - to drive you away."

He licked his lips. He had no idea where any of that had come from, and could not explain it if somebody asked. Beside him, Potter sent him a confused look.

Umbridge clenched her jaw, narrowing her eyes, before seemingly scribbling an entire paragraph onto her clipboard. Finally, she stepped toward Draco— he held his breath— and shoved a piece of parchment his way. "You will take that to your head of house immediately, thank you."

*

"Two weeks of detention! What on Earth for?"

Draco was sulking, he could admit it. According to Professor Flitwick, Umbridge has assigned him two week's worth of detention with her for threatening the livelihood of a teacher. He really hoped it didn't get back to Severus, somehow. "I didn't do anything, Granger. She asked for a prediction and I gave her one."

"It was absolutely wicked, mate," Weasley interjected. Draco talking back to Trelawney seemed to have changed their friendship for the better. "The centaur thing was a bit random, though."

"No, it wasn't," said Potter. "Draco's a real Seer. Why d'you think he was at Sirius' house for the summer? Voldemort wants him to see into the future, and his slimy dad would've been willing to sacrifice him if Draco hadn't left."

He stumbled. Potter has known since third-year, of course, but apparently, he'd realised more than he let on. Draco never actually explained why he wasn't spending the summer with his real family, but somehow Harry had guessed correctly. Perhaps he was clever and handsome.

"Malfoy's not a Seer, Harry. That's impossible."

Granger seemed confident in her statement. Draco was too lazy to defend himself.

"I believe it," Weasley said. "He always seems to know about things in advance. And it's a better explanation for why he knew about Crouch last year than him being a Death Eater in training."

Draco stumbled, again. "People are saying that?"

"You didn't know?" Harry asked, sounding apologetic. Draco shook his head. "People have been saying it all term. I mean, it's not as gossiped about as me being completely insane, but it's still a pretty well-known rumour. Not that we believe it!"

He felt, inexplicably, like crying. It explained a lot, though— why his house has been ignoring him, why students he's never even met before seem afraid of him. They're all under the assumption that Draco's going to become a fucking Death Eater. And Zabini had tried telling him... No, that wasn’t right. Zabini had been trying to _warn_ Draco.

*

_2nd October 1995_

_Granger told me to invite some of the Ravenclaw's for the meeting about Harry teaching DADA on Saturday. I did, because it's a good idea, but I also invited some Slytherin's beside her back. Pansy first, who then encouraged me to ask Zabini. Apparently, he has indeed stopped bullying people to focus more on his studies, like the Gryffindor’s said. It is our O.W.L year, after all._

_So I invited him. He's going to come. Crabbe and Goyle, as well. I really hope this doesn't backfire on me._

*

After the meeting was over, Draco ignored Granger whining about his inviting the Slytherin's— as if that was fair in any way. Just because they got saddled with some shitty family didn't mean they were less entitled to better education. Anyway, afterwards, Zabini wanted to speak with him alone. Draco went, if only to avoid Harry for a little while longer, who had been even madder about the Slytherin thing than Granger.

"So, what'd you wanna talk about?"

Zabini was kind of handsome, Draco thought, until he started talking in his annoying drawl. "I know about your secret."

His heart stuttered. _Oh, no_ , his magic screamed. _He can't know! He can't, he can't, he can't. You're not meant to tell Draco, not about that_!

"Um... What secret?"

"That you're queer," said Zabini casually. Draco let out a breath. That was hardly a secret, anymore. He'd been slowly telling people since the Yule Ball, last year. Harry first, then Granger and Weasley, Severus... Luna had always known, so she was the easiest to come out to. "And don't deny it. I noticed last year."

Draco rolled his eyes and looked over his shoulder. The Gryffindor's were huddled on the opposite side of the Hog's Head together, looking a little worried, now. _Good_ , he thought. They deserved to be concerned. Zabini wasn't about to beat him up just because he has green and silver on his tie. "Can you stop beating around the bush?"

Zabini raised a neatly-shaped eyebrow. "I was just going to ask if you've been with anyone."

"Obviously not."

"Well, you could be with me, then," said Zabini, crossing his arms over his chest. "It makes sense, no? Our parents know each other, we're both Pureblood and you're handsome enough."

He was speechless. _What the fuck_?

"What the fuck?" Draco finally screeched.

"You heard me, Malfoy. If we date, we can graduate Hogwarts with some experience under our belts. This is a chance of a lifetime, there aren't any other boys who would be up to your parent's standards."

The worst thing was, it _did_ make sense. But, Draco still had bloody morals. And, also, maybe, an unrequited crush on his best friend... "No. Absolutely not."

"Suit yourself." Zabini swept off as dramatically as Snape always does.

Draco rolls his eyes, incredulous, and wanders over to the Gryffindor trio, who immediately bombarded him with questions. "Settle down, idiots," he murmured, raising a hand for silence. "I was just making him promise not to cause any drama during this whole DADA club thing. That is alright, isn't it? Talking to Slytherins isn't against the law?"

Weasley flipped him off. Harry was still worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, while Granger pulled her thick hair into a floppy bun. "Whatever, Malfoy. Let's just get out of here. Oh, and Harry, did you notice how Cho was looking at you earlier...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOTP will probably be split up into 2-3 parts, cause of how much plot there is to cover. same goes for the rest of the books :-)
> 
> p.s. i changed the title of this fic because i felt like it didnt match with the story anymore (used to be “sweet creature [you break me home]”)


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